


All I Have, I Will Give To You

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Manhandling, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows the build up of Iron Bull/Trevelyan's relationship from Haven to Skyhold, with plenty of fluff and eventually smut. </p>
<p>Spoiler-free, WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Maferath’s balls_ , this rain will be the death of me.”

They didn’t call it the Storm Coast for nothing; the downpour never seemed to end. _At least there aren’t any undead to deal with_ , Amara thought as she wrung the water from her long black hair. It was marginally better here than the Fallow Mire—though all the mountain climbing almost made the two locations equal in terms of miserableness.

“Next time we can bring you an umbrella.” The Iron Bull teased as he hunched in the tent. She gave him a look and turned her back to him before pulling the soaked shirt off of her skin. Amara had doubted when they set up camp that Vivienne would have been very happy sharing a tent with the qunari, despite their cordial interactions. Cassandra would definitely not have been comfortable getting undressed in the same space so Amara volunteered to share a tent with him.

Not once did she feel his gaze linger on her body as she put on dry clothes—for all his flirtatiousness he had great respect for boundaries. She had met plenty men with far less courtesy, so to find it in someone who elected to be a mercenary was refreshing and a little bit relieving. When the Herald turned back to face her companion she found him already setting up their bedrolls.

“Thanks, Iron Bull.” She said in the middle of a yawn. He nodded but looked up at her with a frown. It gave her pause and made her immediately look over her shoulder. “What? What is it?”

“You’re shaking.” He explained while wiping the water off his torso. She shrugged and nodded while searching through her pack for a canteen.

“Too bad I’m not a mage, then I could just heat myself up. Maybe even make the rain _stop_.” She joked, raising an eyebrow before taking a drink.

“I’ve gotta say I’m pretty good with the fact that you’re _not_ a mage.” Without missing a beat he pulled her bedroll right beside his and began to settle in for the night. It was clear that he was saving her the trouble of asking to sleep side by side in order to get some kind of warmth. She appreciated the gesture and, after wringing her hair out once more, moved to the middle of the tent where the qunari was. Amara carefully pushed down the top part of her bedroll and climbed in, pulling the blanket up and sighing as her head hit the pillow.

“Speaking of mages, I still have a bad feeling about that Apostate’s cabin we found to the north.” Amara said, staring at the ceiling of the tent and listening to the persistent rain barreling against the exterior.

“Yeah, no way he’s just gone. And we’re not lucky enough for him to be _dead_ , so I’m betting we’ll run into him sooner or later.”

They had suffered a loss when they found the Inquisition soldiers slaughtered at the forward camp, but getting the Blades of Hessarian on their side was definitely a win. Beyond that and finding a few sites full of resources, the Storm Coast was shaping up to be just as wild and unrelenting as the weather. There was a dragon that breathed lightning flying around somewhere, a giant had disappeared into the southern mountains, and there were countless caves that people and creatures were using as hideouts. Not to mention, of course, the rifts. Not as plentiful as they were in the Hinterlands, but still very much present and a threat.

“Andraste’s ass, how are you so warm? We were walking for hours.” Her entire right side was already warm from the short time they’d been laying next to one another. He let out a deep laugh that she felt reverberate into her body while she turned to look at him.

“Next time you need to bring Solas so he can magic back your body heat.” He teased, looking down at her with his good eye. She found herself wondering if he ever took off that eyepatch, but realized that he never seemed to put on a shirt because the weather never affected him. As a mercenary some sort of armor would have made sense to block his torso, but there was so much of him and thus far his stamina had been almost surreal that she wondered if he needed any protection at all.

“Thank you for your brilliant recommendation, though it does absolutely nothing for me in my current state.” She quipped back, determined to show she was just as willing to dish out jabs as he was.

In truth she hadn’t had much time to get to know the Iron Bull one-on-one. Everything was still so new to her—from the people she met to the places they went and the power that was steadily building inside of her. Still, something about him made her feel oddly comfortable. Which was strange, because a giant, impossibly strong qunari mercenary-spy who brandished an axe nearly the size of her whole body should have by all rights made her terrified of him. But whether it had something to do with his mission from his government organization or it was just his personality, he was extremely easy to talk to.

“You can come closer if you need to.” His voice lacked any innuendos or insinuations of ulterior motives. It was plain and simple an acknowledgement of her still-trembling body and a way he may offer relief.

“My hair is still soaking, I’ll get you all wet.” She dismissed, rubbing her hands together and breathing on them in an attempt to warm up.

“It won’t bother me.” He said simply, watching her as she looked up apprehensively. It was an unexpected kindness and one that she both needed and appreciated.

“Alright, then.” She sat up, scooted right up against the qunari, and settled down on top of his chest. Her whole body was curled against his and despite the initial feelings of awkwardness, the way his body heat permeated up into her more than made up for it. “Oh, and if my snoring gets _too_ out of hand just give me a good shove.”

The Herald turned her head up to give him a grin before settling back in. He laughed in response and brought a big hand down to rub her back. It was only more attempt to get her warm, she knew that, but their entire predicament was resulting in far more intimate exposure than she ever would have expected. The shivers began to recede over time and she let out a contented sigh, offering no protest when his arm finally settled around her. It was very much a position that should have been kept for lovers or at the very least old friends, but nothing about the way they were lying together made her feel uneasy or question any motives. In fact she was rather comfortable.

A certain element of physical safety was always present when the qunari was around. He had, after all, signed up as her bodyguard in addition to hard-hitting warrior. Practically a one-man-battalion, it always made her feel a bit more at ease having him nearby. And it didn’t get much nearer than this. Not that she doubted her own abilities in a fight, but if anyone or anything decided to try attacking her in the night she could count on the Iron Bull to back her up.

All the thoughts of fighting and enemies and inclement weather slowly faded from her mind as a solid and satisfying warmth covered her entire body. It was the feeling she had been craving from the moment the group set out at first light—though the sky constantly being overcast didn’t make it very easy to tell when that was. Still, now that it was night and she was warm and safe, sleep awaited her.

Ever since the incident at the Temple of Sacred Ashes the very nature of her dreams had changed. Before they tended to be dull and rarely memorable. Simple recollections of events or people in a jumbled up order. But now everything she dreamt was vividly vibrant, a veritable sea of memories echoing from ages before she was ever even born. Whatever residence she held in the fade whilst dreaming had shifted entirely thanks to the mark, leaving her to be drawn through dreams that rightfully did not belong to her.

It wasn’t strange now for her to wake with a start thanks to her dream. Sometimes a dull pain even lingered in her body upon waking. But that night, it was something entirely different that brought her out of a slumbering journey to the fade. Starting off as a small pulsing sensation in her hand, a definitive pain quickly spread from her fingers to below her wrist. It festered to the point of waking the Herald and forcing a cry from her throat.

The mark on her hand was glowing unnaturally bright, filling the tent with light as she struggled to kick off her blankets. The Iron Bull woke almost immediately and reached for a weapon before seeing what it was that prompted her commotion. The Herald scrambled away and gripped her aching hand, watching as the green light enveloped her skin and made her marked hand tremor terribly. Iron Bull moved towards her but she pulled away quickly.

“Stay back!” She managed between shallow breaths. The qunari was watching her with wide eyes, going through all of his extensive training to try and determine what to do next. “I—I don’t know if it will h-hurt you too.”

Slapping her good hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the cries of pain, Amara dug the hand at fault into the bottom of the tent. Her fingers dug into the fabric and she rocked back and forth while the pain blazed on.

“I’m getting the Seeker.” The Iron Bull said sternly. He moved to stand but she fervently shook her head. Clearly he was on the verge of ignoring her request but she managed to get a grip on herself just before he called it quits. The rain was still pummeling against the tent so loudly that her whimpers would be drowned out to anyone else’s ears. It was a small kindness.

Tears were forcing their way from her eyes as her heart raced, her body shaking in an entirely different way than earlier when all she felt was coldness. And then, all at once, the pain disappeared and they were plunged back into the darkness of the tent. Amara let out a heaving breath, her whole body slumping at the release, and meekly lifted up her marked hand. There was no notable damage and her fingers moved normally; though the thin green line still lingered on her palm as always.

“You okay?” The Iron Bull’s voice was uncharacteristically calm and quiet. Almost apprehensively he approached her, a frown on his features as he studied her.

“I’m fine now.” She replied after a gulp. The episode was still fresh in her mind but she was determined to push past it. The qunari, on the other hand, was not.

“What the hell was that?” He asked as she feebly moved back towards her bedroll. She cast a glance up at him but regretted it immediately. Part of the reason she felt so comfortable around Iron Bull was he didn’t treat her like anything special. Everyone else, to whatever degree, interacted with her a little differently knowing she was labelled the Herald of Andraste. Whether due to actual religiosity or simply a desire for fame-by-association, the attention was never something she wanted. Nor was the special treatment. So for Bull to suddenly be showing uninterrupted concern made her shy away.

“I don’t know, it’s only happened once before.” She admitted, flexing the hand in question a few times before easing into the bedroll. The qunari followed suit but was still apprehensive about whether or not she was okay. “There isn’t anything to be done about it, there’s no point in putting this burden on others. There’s enough to worry about around here without my adding to it.”

With that she settled down and shut her eyes, ignoring the feeling of his eyes lingering on her. Eventually he lay down again beside her and let out a small sigh. Thunder rang out around the tent and rumbled in ripples till it disappeared. The Herald tried to focus her thoughts on where they would go tomorrow and who they could help. It normally helped her to fall asleep but for now her mind was still stuck on the mark. She hadn’t bothered telling anyone the first time either: after all, Solas had already done his part in ceasing the mark from growing. If he had been able to do anything else, she was certain he would have.

If she _did_ mention it to anyone, it would only lead to being fussed over. Cassandra would likely bring person after person to try and diagnose the problem only to be left frustrated when no mage or scholar could fix it. For now, the sporadic episodes of pain were a small price to pay for being able to close the abundant fade rifts. Still, there was the small issue now that she was no longer the only one aware of this. Someone else had witnessed the event as well and it was possible that he may bring it up to the leaders of the Inquisition.

“Can I ask something of you, Iron Bull?” She made herself only as loud as she needed to be heard over the storm. She was curled up tightly, hand pressed against her chest and facing away from him. As if she wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment as much if she didn’t look at him.

“Sure thing.” He was trying to be calm and nonchalant—perhaps for her sake—and she heard him rustle in his bed roll as he shifted around.

“I would…I’d really appreciate if you kept what happened to yourself.” She said in a small voice, thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t see the vulnerability on her face. “And if you can, please put it out of your mind entirely.”

“Well I can promise the first part.” He said honestly. “But listen, you’ve had enough shit thrown at you already. You don’t need to do this on your own. It’s a quick way to wear yourself down to nothing and not be able to help anyone. So, not sure what the hell I can do about a magic mark on your hand, but I’m on your side.”

She was quiet for a moment before rolling over to face him. It touched her because he meant it. Not because he thought she was a prophet, or because it might win her favour, but simply because she needed it. Hesitantly, the Herald reached out and touched his hand with her own.

“Thanks, Bull.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two sharp blades crossed against an inquisition shield; a newly crafted longsword glimmered in the sunlight before cutting sharply through thin air. A target missed, a blow one second too late, a dance that would never end in bloodshed. There was too much restraint for the sparring match to ever produce an injury, but it served its purpose regardless. Cassandra favoured strong blows and strategic movements, while Amara utilized speed and accuracy. They dove and slashed and blocked and evaded, a whirlwind of quick-decisions and even quicker movements. Individually they were powerhouses but together they made a most formidable team. It was a thrilling match to watch because after even a short observation it was clear there would be no winner, but the ferocity with which they moved was only over-shadowed by the absolute control it took to abstain from genuine harm.

“I didn’t think the Herald of Andraste would be so well versed with a weapon.” Krem said as he dug a knife into an apple to pry off a piece. He was standing around near the Qunari’s tent, both of them watching the women practice. “How does she move like that?”

“Plenty of practice, and more than a little natural talent.” The Iron Bull replied easily. Krem was right: Amara wasn’t exactly what he expected when he heard a title like _The Herald of Andraste_. Less so when his informants painted her like some chantry-obsessed noble who had been trained for court, not for the real world. It was a welcome revelation that the reports had left out what appeared to be her true nature. She was a whole lot more level-headed than many of the nobles he’d met. He wondered at first if maybe it had something to do with her being a Free Marcher and not Orlesian, but nobles tended to be assholes anywhere you went. People like them made him glad for the structure of the Qun. “Wouldn’t want to lose sight of her in a skirmish. Her steps are too soft to hear. She’d slit your throat the second you blinked.”

“Good thing we’re on the same side then.” Krem said with raised eyebrows, biting into the apple chunk. Amara took a step back from Cassandra breathing heavily. She spun her daggers around a few times while circling the Seeker. “So what’s your read on her?”

“I trust her.” He said far quicker than he planned. It gave his Lieutenant pause, a look of mild shock on his face. “All the places we’ve been to, all the people we’ve run into, she’s had plenty of opportunities to fuck people over. To do things that _look_ like charity but actually just further her own agenda. Even when she starts talking about the Inquisition, it’s never like a weapon like Leliana does, or a tool like Cassandra does. I’m putting my coin on her being at the head of this thing before the end.”

After a final strike, the Seeker and the Herald finally ceased their exercise. The women exchanged praise for one another while drinking from their canteens, Cassandra inquiring about a particular move. Amara explained the motive behind it and how best to block it during a true attack. Cassandra did the same with regards to her sword and shield positioning. Despite the shaky introduction back in the cells beneath Haven, Amara very much regarded Cassandra highly. She regarded her as the leader of the Inquisition in all but name, and it was clear others did as well.

“I will speak to Harritt before our next excursion.” Cassandra said as they collected their belongings. “It is likely only a matter of collecting the resources. He is a fine craftsman.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Amara replied, releasing her hair from the tight ponytail she had lifted it into. “I only wonder if something like that is even possible, no matter the smithy.”

“Don’t let _him_ hear that.” Cassandra joked, for perhaps the first time. It brought a genuine grin to the Herald’s face, but before their exchange could continue one of the Inquisition soldiers approached and brought up a matter for the Seeker to deal with. She gave a quick farewell before following the soldier to where the soldiers were training.

The Herald sheathed her daggers and stretched before picking up her coat and putting it back on. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she was thankful for the cool air of the mountainside. For a moment she looked around at all the people busying themselves around Haven, then headed towards Haven’s main gates. At the base of the stairs a young woman was struggling with a large box full of various supplies, kicking the box along the snowy ground while calling out to her friends for them to wait. The friends in question were impatient and wanted to head off to a carriage that was waiting—likely headed to the nearest village. Amara caught the girl’s attention, effectively scaring her into a wide-eyed stare, and told her to go with her friends. The girl stammered quite a bit, trying to assert that she was meant to bring the new merchandise to Seggrit, but eventually listened when the Herald said she would consider it a favour if she allowed her to take the box.

Of course, she wasn’t counting on it _actually_ being that heavy. Once the girl had run off and jumped onto the back of the carriage with her friends, Amara bent down and lifted the box with all her strength. The adrenaline from her spar with Cassandra was helping, but it truly seemed that in the young girl’s rush to meet her friends she had simply combined the contents of multiple boxes into just the one. It contained various armor pieces and accessories that weighed an obscene amount all together. Taking a moment to gather her strength, she set off once more for the stairs.

“Want a hand with that?” The Iron Bull called out, seeing the struggle she was trying to push through. She turned to face him, trying to see him over all the items sticking out of the box. Moving so he could see her nod she waited patiently for him to cross the short distance from his tent to where she stood. Making sure he had a proper grip he took the box from her with ease, making it look like it was almost empty.

“Thanks, I did _not_ feel like lugging that up to Seggrit’s.” She explained while leading the way. The paths weren’t that busy at this time of day but it wasn’t far off from dusk, and that was when everyone seemed to come out of the woodwork. Just as they ascended the steps a gruff looking soldier approached the Herald and explained that, if the offer still stood, he’d found some others to go in for a few rounds of wicked grace. She promised she’d be right there and he went off to gather her soon-to-be opponents.

“Cards, huh?” Bull said, looking down at her with interest. He adjusted his grip on the box and waited for her to continue leading the way. It actually was pretty heavy for her to have even succeeded in getting off the ground, but it was amusing the way she regarded his strength as limitless so he kept the fact to himself.

“You can join us.” She said easily before flashing a sly smile. “If you feel like losing.”

It was a half-hearted taunt, he knew, but it worked. Or maybe he just wanted to see how good her poker face could truly be. The two of them made it to Seggrit’s and explained they were here in place of the young girl (Lea? Mia? It was so hard to remember all the names of the people camping out). The shop owner was thankful for the delivery but mild irritation came to the surface when Iron Bull set the box down.

“Did that girl shove everything into one box _again_?” Seggrit seethed, inspecting the goods meticulously for any deficiencies. “I told her last time that if I wanted one box, I’d _ask_ for one box. I’m trying to run a business here.”

“Actually I put everything in there.” Amara said simply, keeping a straight face. “I didn’t want to make more than one trip.”

He looked skeptical but knew better than to voice his concerns, especially with a Qunari bodyguard at her side. The Iron Bull was still somewhat pleasantly surprised whenever he caught her doing things like that—putting herself on the line for people who had absolutely no military or political significance. Just a random kid who was struggling with the menial job she had. With a nod the Herald turned her heel and set off towards the tavern in the middle of the village. The tavern would be full soon, but for now the four soldiers greeted her when she entered. They eyed Bull with half-buried suspicion, but said nothing when the two of them sat down at the table. Flissa brought a round of ale for the lot of them and the soldier from before brought out the familiar deck of cards.

The minstrel in the corner began to play an upbeat tune that provided a backdrop besides a few cluttered conversations. Everyone went around the table to offer their names—even Amara, despite the very obvious fact that they all knew who she was. Most of the soldiers looked rough around the edges, like perhaps they had been in mercenary work themselves before hearing a call to the holy Inquisition.

“It’s been an awful long time since I’ve played,” Amara began as the lot of them settled in. Five cards were dealt to each of them but everyone kept their hand facing down. The Herald produced a coin and rolled it between her fingers before setting it on the table. It was a simple hand movement, but the Iron Bull noticed it all the same. “Let’s say we start small…Three silvers?”

“I’ll see that bet.” One of the soldiers said, pulling the coin from his pocket and setting it on the table. When everyone had gone in, they raised their mugs and all took a drink before settling in for the game.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“There she is, the Angel of Death.” Amara grinned as the soldier begrudgingly lay the card down that signalled the end of the game. One by one the players went around the table and revealed their hand. The Iron Bull had kept a blank face through the entire game, but when it came to be his turn he let a grin through.

“Four serpents. A winning hand.” The Qunari showed his cards to everyone, resulting in more than a few grumbles. It had been difficult for the Herald to find people willing to play the game: so many of them held her in too high regard so even if they did play, they let her win. As if beating her fairly would cause her to bring down Andraste’s wrath on them. But this group held nothing back and provided her with genuine competition. “About fuckin’ time someone broke your winning streak.”

“That’s a damn good hand.” She said with a nod. The tone of her voice suggested she knew something the rest of them didn’t, and it made the Qunari uneasy. Sitting up a little in his seat, he waited for her to reveal. “Not quite a winning hand though. I’m sitting pretty on all four angels… _and_ the serpent-entwined dagger.”

“Maker take me, that’s nearly impossible!” One of the soldiers exclaimed, leaning over the table to get a good look at her cards.

“No way you win three games in a row without cheating.” Iron Bull said, looking at her not with suspicion but with a hint of admiration. Amara said nothing but smiled slyly, reaching out and pulling the silver and copper pieces towards her pile. As she began to dump the money into a leather sack the Bull tried to taunt her into playing again. “One last game, double or nothing.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable with leaving on a high note, thank you.” She said defiantly, getting to her feet and thanking the others for the game. The soldiers bowed and went back to whatever they’d been doing before she found them, but the Iron Bull got up to follow her out of the tavern. It was far more crowded now and involved slipping between people to make it to the door—something decidedly more difficult for someone like the Iron Bull. Outside was shaping up to be just as busy as inside the tavern, but when they were relatively alone he finally spoke.

“You’ve gotta tell me, how’d you keep swiping cards from the discard pile without any of us noticing?” He slowed his pace to keep up with her. She noticed that it wasn’t all he was doing though: as if by habit his eyes darted around constantly. Minute movements, so small they were barely noticeable. Checking not only for possible danger, but possible danger to _her_. A bodyguard, indeed. “I was watching you and I still didn’t see anything.”

“You’re the Ben-hassrath. You figure it out.” She shrugged, looking up at him with a smirk. Turning to walk in front of him she jingled the sack of coins. “Maybe I’m just that good, and you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

“Or maybe,” He leaned against the doorway of her quarters as she dropped the bag inside a chest. It didn’t escape him that she clearly trusted him enough to do put the coin away in plain view. “I’m asking so we set up a team sort of thing. We go find some nobles, challenge them to a game, win a few, and at the end of the night we split the coin.”

“You do remember _I’m_ a noble right?” It was a thing she did now and then: try to trip him up by feigning offense when he talked shit about nobles. The first few times it actually succeeded in giving him pause, but the joke had long since lost its effect. Now he just rolled his eyes. “Besides, why would I split the coin with you when I’ve gotten so used to you paying me to beat you at wicked grace?”

“Now you’re just being hurtful.” He teased, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at her with his good eye. Amara stood for a moment in her the small cabin, turning round and round until she located what she was searching for: a lantern. Taking it off a wooden shelf she took a candle and touched it to the wick within the lantern to light it. When this was done, she patted him on his upper arm and pulled out a pair of thick gloves. Pulling them tightly over her hands, Amara flexed her fingers a few times before setting off again with the lantern in hand. The Iron Bull closed the door without being asked and followed her again as they moved through the busy paths of Haven.

Almost everyone acknowledged her when they passed with some polite greeting, but many more were thanking her for specific things. Finding rare raw materials badly needed by the inquisition, bringing herbs for healing potions, speeding along the process of requisitions; the list went on. The Qunari tried to figure out how she had the time to do it all on top of apparently saving the world. One of the chantry sisters greeted the Herald but turned to Iron Bull and smiled at him, a blush taking over her cheeks as she gave a much differently toned greeting.

“Glad to see _someone_ around here is having fun.” Amara teased once they were out of earshot. The Iron Bull laughed it off but felt something off in his chest. He wasn’t feeling guilty or ashamed about messing around with the chantry sister (more than one, plus a number of serving girls) but having Amara witness the exchange almost felt like…Hell, he didn’t know. But it didn’t feel neutral and it didn’t feel particularly good either. He pushed the thought out of his head, figuring that maybe it would go away. But then he started wondering if she even saw the way that Cullen looked at her or the way Blackwall tended to watch her from afar while pretending to do other work. It was possible she was oblivious, but it was also possible she just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to hurt their feelings. They walked side by side through the main gates of Haven and towards his tent. It was where she left him, bidding him a goodnight and turning to set off down the west road.

“You still aren’t done for the day?” He asked before she could get too far. Facing him, she gave a half-smile and looked down the road where she was heading.

“Almost. I’ve just got something I’ve been working on…” She looked at him hesitantly and paused to think for a moment before switching the lantern to her other hand. “Actually, if you’re up for some labour I wouldn’t mind a hand.”

“Considering your struggle with one little box, you probably need me.” He teased while walking up to her. She pressed a hand to her heart and winced, shaking her head.

“ _Now_ who’s being hurtful.”

They laughed and set out on the road. It was getting colder out and being nestled in a mountain range literally named after their chilly disposition certainly didn’t help. Snow fell more frequently these days, which meant everyone had to be a lot more vigilant about keeping fires up and going. The road took them past the blacksmith where everyone was working hard on the various requests submitted. Harrit waved to Amara and she gave a salute back, taking a moment to show the Qunari the latest modification made by the smithy to her daggers.

The path wound along the edges of the village before reaching up towards a bridge. As far as Bull knew, that way into the village had been sealed off by some rocks that fell thanks to the explosion. No one came in or went out that way—all the shipments and caravans all came in from the east. But she continued on in that direction nonetheless, getting out of the way as a few nugs ran by. When they made it onto the bridge itself she cast a quick look at the Qunari, almost as if second guessing her decision, but seemed to push the feeling away.

It was clear that this place had been not only neglected but abandoned. There were dozens of belongings scattered along the crafted stone crossing that must have been left behind by whoever had been here before the explosion. The Iron Bull was trying to figure out what she could possibly be working on out here alone; with no supplies, no evidence of anything being built, nothing at all that looked like it needed manual labour. The only exception was the blocked path, but it was clear she wasn’t trying to clear that especially not with her bare hands.

“When I first came by this way I noticed them.” Amara explained as they neared the end of the bridge. It became clear then what she was referring to. There were bodies wrapped up in white cloth neatly lined up against the walls of the bridge. “I thought someone would come back, take them to whatever homelands they hailed from, but they’ve just…stayed here.”

No doubt they had been casualties of the mage-templar war. Now they had long since frozen stiff which at least saved them from what would be the overwhelming stench of death. Instead, they were just left with the coldness. Amara hovered for a moment, turning the lantern as she looked at all the dead, and then headed through the doors of the now defunct gate. Walking down a short slope she presented the Iron Bull with the task he’d signed up for. She had been coming out here to dig a mass grave.

“There were other bodies, ones that I think died from the explosion. They were probably tasked with taking care of the corpses, but that clearly is no longer an option.” She walked around the edge of the grave she’d been digging and set the lantern atop a rock. “I buried them first.”

“And you didn’t think ‘till now to ask for some help?” The Iron Bull watched as she shrugged and jumped into the large grave. She picked up a shovel and felt the weight of it in her grip.

“There’s enough work for everyone in Haven. We’re stretched enough as it is.” She explained. The Qunari got down into the grave with her, looking around at it for a moment before picking up one of the other shovels. “I just think they deserve a proper burial. It’s more than we could offer all those people in the Hinterlands.”

She was right, but she said it like they hadn’t helped a ton of people in the region either. The Inquisition had stopped the fighting between the mages and templars, found a bunch of blankets for everyone, hunted ram so the refugees could eat, hell they’d even convinced some healer from Redcliffe to go to the crossroads and help. It clearly didn’t feel like enough to her, or else she wouldn’t be down in the hole digging. The Iron Bull was pretty impressed with the progress she’d made: not only because it was a big grave and not the first one she’d dug, but because the ground was pretty frozen near the surface and would have been even harder to break.

However, it was a whole lot easier with two. Especially when one of those two was a giant Qunari with incredible strength and admirable stamina. The biggest issue now was hoping the shovel didn’t break. Amara didn’t mind that he was working quicker than her, because it got the job done faster and he clearly wasn’t doing it to try and show her up. Not this time at least. The work was hard and tiresome compounded with the fact that she’d been out here the past five nights working. Her limbs were still sore and the Herald couldn’t help but wince now and again.

“That’s a lot of bodies for you to have waited this long for help.” The Iron Bull said as he tossed some dirt into the growing pile. Amara mimicked him, noticeably more winded, before pausing to lean against the shovel.

“You should have seen when I started.” She explained, pushing the hair from her face. “There were thirty-five of them.”

“ _Thirty-five_?” Now it was his turn to stop. That was more than his entire merc band—and all she did was shrug.

“I’ve been working on this for a while now,” was her only response. It may have been a kind thing to do, but if she was honest with herself standing around for too long was painful.

Everywhere she looked—in Haven, out in the world, it didn’t matter—she was reminded of what lay on her shoulders. If she didn’t seal this giant rift in the sky, everyone could die. If she did seal this giant rift in the sky, there was still the mystery of who killed the divine and blew up the Temple of Sacred Ashes. So when she did things like this, or helped out around the village, it was to work her to exhaustion. It was to make sure that when she finally did lay her head down on a pillow at the end of the day she felt asleep almost immediately. It was something that the Iron Bull had picked up on pretty early, but he didn’t know it was to this extent.

They worked in a comfortable silence: shovelling and throwing and digging in deep. The earth was softer the deeper they went but it was still a lot of work to dig a grave big enough for the rest of the bodies. Twice Amara had to change out the candle in the lantern as the both of them worked through the sunset and into the first hours of the night. The hours of effort had paid off—and so did the extra set of hands. The grave was wide and deep, hopefully enough to humbly house the dead. On Amara’s word they finally stopped. Setting tossing the shovels onto the snow-covered ground, the Iron Bull got out first. He turned to face the Herald and held out both hands to heave her out of the hole.

Amara nodded to him in thanks and paused to catch her breath, studying the grave and then heading up to the bridge. Together they moved all of the wrapped bodies onto a cart. Their stiffness made them easier to maneuver and the white cloth almost masked that they were in fact bodies. Once they were all loaded the two of them carefully steered the cart down to the impromptu burial grounds they’d carved out of the earth. The Qunari got back into the grave and took the bodies Amara handed to him, laying them neatly beside one another in the dirt. They were lucky in that they had made it just big enough for the bodies that remained. Before they did anything else, Amara looked on in a few moments of silence.

“May they find peace in the embrace of whichever Creators they called home.”

It was brief by the way of eulogies, but it was fitting all the same. These nameless, faceless bodies had once been people and at least now they could have the dignity of a proper resting place. That meant something to her, and throwing down that first shovel of dirt felt a little lighter because of it.

Putting the dirt back was a lot easier but also a lot messier. The soil mixed with the white snow and muddled into a dirty blanket over the top of the grave. Perhaps it was better that way; better than the snowy mountainside simply swallowing them up. Regardless, Amara took a group of markers from the now empty cart and stuck them in the ground: one where they had just been working, and two more where she had buried others. They were simple metal sticks curled into a slightly adorned fashion, but it was enough to mark that there was more here than just dirt.

With a heavy sigh, Amara picked up the lantern and walked back up to the bridge for the last time. She set the glass contraption down and settled on the wall of the bridge, getting comfortable and pulling a flask from her jacket. She was still a little winded from all the work—and definitely sweaty—but the night air was working to combat both of those things. The Qunari took a seat beside her when she offered a drink, watching her with his good eye. He understood why the others pined for her. Besides being beautiful—there was no doubt about that—she was kind and capable and incredibly determined. The scar going across her right eye attested to that fact. But somehow, through everything that had been thrown at her, she hadn’t turned jaded or cold or cruel. That took a different kind a strength.

“So I gotta ask, who taught you how to fight?” The Iron Bull asked casually. A grin took over the Herald’s face and she took a big gulp from the flask.

“A mercenary from the Invisible Sisters.” Amara watched the Qunari for any sign of disbelief or laughter. He expressed neither, so she continued. “When I was sixteen, I was at my great aunt Lucille’s summer ball. One of the young men was pursuing me, and didn’t take rejection well. I landed a few lucky punches and he was disgraced by all the guests, but I hated that feeling when I was alone in the corridor and didn’t know if I was going to escape. So I hired this woman who called herself Kalyene, and she taught me how to fight.”

“Invisible Sister, huh? I heard a bunch of them got put out of business for good.” If he lingered too much on her story, the fury brewing in his chest would bubble over. He could imagine her perfectly—the young noble captivating her peers and racking up the lineage requests and marriage proposals. Taught to love the chantry and the game and _know her place_. Then the guy, trying to take advantage of that fact. Seeing her take on demons and bandits was one thing: she knew how to fight and he was always there for backup. But thinking of her, alone and a kid, having to fend off some asshole who felt entitled to her body? It was enough to make him grind his teeth.

“As I understand it, the Kirkwall faction of the group sort of went rogue. Started mugging people when the sun went down and caught the attention of the Champion. I trained with Kalyene up until my twenty-fifth year, at which point she offered me a place as a Sister.”

“You would have made a damn good merc.” He said approvingly, taking the drink she offered. “The Seeker was working pretty hard to even fake-hit you today.”

It wasn’t a surprise that he’d been watching: she’d been fighting out in the open and pretty much in plain view of tens of people. She may have even caught the way his eyes were pinned on them and shown off a little. It was a whole lot easier to do when they weren’t face with the actual threat of death. Still, it was flattering to say the least. He was an incredible fighter so having his approval was rewarding. Especially because she actually cared about his opinion of her. Amara looked up at the dark sky and gripped the stone wall tightly.

“Maker, look at that.” Amara accepted the flask back and finished it without moving her eyes. She was staring at the giant rift, watching as it hummed and swirled in the too-close-for-comfort sky. Pieces of debris from the destroyed temple still floating in its waves of energy, serving as a reminder of what it had accomplished—and what it might do. “Even with the mages, how am I meant to close that?”

“Ah, you’ll be fine.” He said easily. She turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done a lot of pretty crazy shit up till now, figure this is just one more thing to add to the list.”

“You really think so?” Amara asked in a small voice. It was the kind of vulnerability she didn’t often allow herself to exhibit, but the Qunari’s morale didn’t seem to be as easily shaken.

“Hell yeah.” He said it with such confidence that she believed him. Perhaps she just needed a mixture of his assurance and her hesitancy. _Hope and fear in equal measure_. “Could do with some better alcohol, though.”

That succeeded in bringing a smile to her face. The Herald felt a relative amount of comfort; of peace. Turning to look out at the lights scattered in Haven, she let out a contented sigh. She never expected any of this when she first left the familiarity of Ostwick. Leaving behind the politics and countless family gatherings had seemed like a blessing at first, but with the whirlwind of events that soon unfolded she had felt incredibly alone. Hated or loved, nothing felt the way it used to. She missed those that she’d called friends, she missed the small things that had made her feel at home.

It wasn’t so bad anymore, though. She’d found friends in Cassandra and Varric, found a strange sort of comfort in the Qunari. By all rights he was the most foreign thing to her and yet he always found a way to put her at ease. She hadn’t imagined being in the situation at all, but she _certainly_ couldn’t imagine seeing it through without him. It was a strange sort of dependency, and one that frankly scared her a little. But whenever that thought surface she realized there were plenty of worse things to be terrified of in the world. An unexpected kinship should not be one of them. With a light heart, she leaned against him.

“I’m glad you’re here, The Iron Bull.” Amara said quietly. He didn’t move at the physical contact—they’d been a whole lot closer before. But something in his chest moved at her words.

“Me too.” He replied, waiting a beat before adding one last jab. “ _Your Worship_.”


	3. Chapter 3

It all started with a promise. Looking back on it, the impending doom in the form of an ambush was a terrible environment to demand something of someone. But he’d made the promise, and backing out didn’t exactly feel like an option.

No one could have guessed that just hours after the Herald was able to seal the rift in the sky, Haven would find itself under siege. The onslaught came with no warning, no preamble, no demands, and no end in sight beyond total obliteration. The whole village was in an uproar, everyone scrambling to gather their belongings and flee the incoming doom. People fled to the chantry for safety but hundreds more were scattered in the village and outer grounds. In the commotion Amara had found him, asking for him to join her in the fight.

Defected Templars were upon them almost instantly, a strange red glow covering them that reminded them of the red lyrium encountered across Thedas. With incredible speed she cut at the ankles of the closest ones, leaving them perfectly vulnerable for the Qunari’s axe to put them down for good.

“Cassandra and Vivienne are waiting for us.” Amara explained, plunging both blades into the neck of a Templar. The Iron Bull nodded and waited for her to lead the way but instead she pulled him off to the side, away from the commotion. “I need you to do something for me.”

“You got it.” He nodded before she’d even finished speaking. Whatever it was he thought he could handle it with ease. When she spoke, it proved him wrong.

“If things go south and our odds look worse than this, I need you to get the others to safety.” The request had barely left her mouth when an arrow zoomed towards her head. She swerved out of its path and Iron Bull instinctively moved in front of her, but one of the Inquisition soldiers was already at work taking out the enemy archer.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” He asked, pulling them more out of the way but keeping her against Haven’s wooden walls. If anything wanted to get to her again, they’d have to go through him first.

“Cassandra especially. She’ll give her life without a second thought, and I won’t let that happen. I’ve just got this feeling that…” A Red Templar came at them from the western path and lunged at them; Iron Bull reeled back his axe and swung, cutting the Templar’s head off entirely, and turned back to Amara. “I think I know what’s going to happen, and if I’m right I need everyone to be very far from this place. I trust you to get them away from me and to someplace safe. Please, promise me you’ll do that. Promise me!”

Without warning she leapt away from him and took on the group of Templars converging on an Inquisition soldier. He followed after her and together they obliterated the attackers. The soldier nodded and quickly ran off, but Cassandra came into view with Varric close behind. Amara turned to the Qunari, a look bordering on desperation taking over her features.

“I’ll do it.” He said begrudgingly, grip tightening on his axe. “I promise.

Amara had the feeling in her gut as soon as she found out the surprise army wasn’t under any banner. The way the strange boy Cole spoke about the “Elder One” was so final, like the last chapters of a book winding up for a finale. She had been the center of this ever since the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it only made sense that she would be pivotal during the ambush as well. If she had to stay behind to put an end to it, even with her death, it was a small price to pay.

That was half the reason The Iron Bull felt so full of guilt; some part of him saw that acceptance of death on her face when she looked at him. It was in the words she said and the way she fought. No longer for survival, but just to buy time. He had seen or sensed that all as they moved through Haven, clearing trebuchets and rescuing townspeople in a heroic endeavour that she had no intention of enduring.

After all that insight, he still kept his promise. He still fucking left her behind.

That final moment with her should have brought him to his senses. With that giant morphed Templar dead and the remaining trebuchet aimed at the mountain. One kick of the lever and the avalanche would start—but the dragon-darkspawn-whatever was having none of that.

“Alright, go back to the Chantry.” Her voice was steady as the massive beast flew overhead, limbs still sore from all the fighting. “I’ll take care of the trebuchet and follow.”

“We will not leave you!” Cassandra said sternly, standing tall.

“I’m right behind you, go!” She started to move to make the others believe, but in her heart she knew this was how it was meant to be. If she stayed behind, that _thing_ leading this assault would take the bait and confront her. When they started to move Amara halted, watching the dragon.

“Come on!” The Iron Bull called out. He stopped in his steps and looked at her with a frown.

“You have to get them to the Chantry, no matter what.” She said in a quieter voice. Gripping her daggers tightly, she looked at the Qunari woefully.

“Fuck that, we can make it.” He took a step towards her and she took one back. In her eyes he could see it: determined defeat. She was ending this on her own terms, and that meant saving everyone else.

“Your company needs you, and so will the Inquisition.” There was a quiver so slight in her voice that he almost missed it. With one weary look at the dragon approaching she turned to him one last time. “Please, Bull. You promised me. Now go.”

Those words echoed in his head like a bad tavern song. While the freezing winds of The Frostback Mountains tried to numb his body, they did nothing to quiet his mind. The moment he’d stepped away from her he knew he was going to regret it, and yet he kept pushing the Seeker and the First Enchanter forward because she was right. _He had promised_. But what good was keeping your word if the one you’re honouring is dead?

These were the things flying around in his head since the Inquisition had set up camp in the clearing. The path the chantry guy had told them about had done the job of getting them out: but enduring one ordeal did not mean surviving entirely. They were functionally leaderless, with piles of dead, injured, or missing people and absolutely no idea where the fuck they were besides _somewhere cold and on a mountain_. Everyone had been aimlessly wandering around the camp, sometimes setting up bedrolls or fires or food. But for the most part, the whole Inquisition and its followers were in a daze—and had been ever since they arrived. Standing watch was the least he could do, and once he figured out the directions from the stars he positioned himself at the highest viable vantage point facing the only direction she (or any other survivors) could be coming from.

 “Why don’t you come down with the rest of us, Chief?” Rocky asked over the howl of the wind and snow. “You’ve been sitting here for hours and…you know...Nothing’s happened.”

The Iron Bull turned to look at his dwarven companion, teeth clenched not against the cold but to bite back cruel words. All it took was that one look to completely silence the dwarf and force him back a step.

“She’s coming back, Rocky.” He growled fiercely. It wasn’t negotiable to him: _she had to come back_. When had this deep attachment happened? He’d lost plenty of people over the years, Qunari and otherwise. From Par Vollen to Seheron to Orlais to everywhere in between—a mercenary by definition should be accustomed to loss. But this time felt different. She had been someone, all things considered, _close_ to him. Every hour that passed without any sign of her only made him realize how much he cared for her. It was foreign and frightening, so he focused on what he could control: sharpening the edge of his axe and keeping a weather eye on the snowy horizon.

“Uh, sure Chief.” Rocky swallowed hard and pulled his hood tight against his face before starting the descent to the main camp. The Iron Bull heaved out a breath and straightened up, wondering how much time they had left. Even if there wasn’t some bloodthirsty darkspawn _whatever_ out there with an army searching for them, all these people couldn’t stay here forever. Soon they’d have to move on in search of real shelter. And whether he liked it or not, he was contractually obligated to follow the Inquisition and fight for them, _not_ the noble they’d risen up as a prophet. And The Bull’s Chargers _didn’t_ break a contract.

A part of him definitely wanted to, though. Maybe she was close by, maybe they just needed to get a group out there searching the aftermath. Or maybe she was dead the second the snow fell. The voice of reason pushed for this outcome to be accepted because the odds were _seriously_ against her not only surviving that explosion and the fade but also an avalanche.

Odds didn’t seem to matter much to her lately.

There was no way for her to know how long it had been or if there was even any hope of finding them again. She had lost consciousness when she fell down into the elaborate cave systems beneath Haven. How she made it out at all was beyond her, but something had changed with the mark on her hand. Whatever the interaction with Corypheus resulted in, she could do more with it now. Maybe it was enough to get her back to the Inquisition.

Still, the knowledge did nothing to fend off the freezing winds. Even with her armor she was chilled to the bone. If she stopped to try and make a fire, she could lose the trail forever. But after all the walking she was so ready to give up. She was certain that after each step she could go no further and yet her muscles continued anyway. They ignored the searing pain from over exhaustion and simply pushed on as long as she had the spirit to. Even that, though, was dwindling. The only clues she’d seen so far spelled out that while she was on the right path the others were likely long gone.

It would be so much easier to just give up. The Herald had done her part: she had stopped the giant rift from growing and she had stopped the dragon’s assault upon Haven. Could she sleep now? Could she rest? There was another campfire with warm embers this time; still, they were likely from a different family fleeing the destruction. The hill was almost too much for her. When she reached the top she would finally stop. Her body demanded it, her spirit cried out for it.

She was nothing but a hazy silhouette, a shadow-figure to the Qunari who took watch alone at the mountaintop. At first it was just like the other flashes he mistook for a solid form: but as soon as he could see the roughed up blue hide of her coat and the glint of a silver dagger he sprung to his feet.

“ _Seeker!_ ” He roared down the hill, drawing the attention of half of the encampment. “It’s her!”

It was impossible to mistake the Qunari for anyone other than The Iron Bull, even in this blizzard. The sight was all she needed to stop fighting. Her legs finally gave out from under her and she sank into the snow, limbs shaking from fatigue and borderline hypothermia. He was by her side in a few short strides, effortlessly lifting her into his arms in one swoop. With one arm hooked under her legs he held her tightly against his chest and made for the camp.

“ _Thank the Maker_.” Cassandra and Cullen were rushing up the hillside to see for themselves.

In the valley below the mass of people were suddenly stirring at the realization of what was going on. She was shaking terribly in his grasp but the Qunari avoided running. Slipping in the snow could bring further harm to her and she _clearly_ didn’t need that. Cullen rushed to take the cape from his shoulders and drape it over her. The two of them were harping a thousand questions at once, but what concerned him more was the incoming throng of people scrambling for a better look.

“Get them out of the fucking way!” He demanded. Cullen and Leliana moved to clear a path while Cassandra followed closely, hand on the hilt of her sword. After everything that had happened it was a smart move to be ready for anything. The Herald’s head nodded off to one side and her body went completely limp. “She needs a healer. Now.”

The feeling rising up in him was panic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt it.

“Vivienne!” Cassandra called out through the crowds. “Where is the First Enchanter?”

“Bring her here, quickly now.” Vivienne’s voice was calm, assuring all who listened that she had the situation under control. The Iron Bull followed the mage to a canopy a head too short for him. He stooped and slowly knelt before the unoccupied cot. “Carefully, darling. She’s injured enough as it is.”

With uncharacteristic gentility, the Qunari lay the Herald down on the woven bed. He slipped his hands out from under her body bit by bit and didn’t object when the mage pushed him out of the way. Her hands immediately glowed as she began to coax the life back into their fallen defender.

“Is she alive?” Cassandra asked gravely, hovering at the foot of Amara’s bed. Mother Giselle was being escorted over by Josephine, deep lines of worry etched on her face.

“Alive, yes, but she isn’t well Seeker.” Vivienne said honestly, pressing a hand to the Herald’s chest and washing her with a white glow. As a result she took in a deep breath and fluttered her eyes open. There were so many people around her, so many noises in the distance, so much confusion. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the first face her eyes could focus on was the hardest one to ignore.

“ _Iron Bull…Am I dead_?” Her voice was coarse but it stirred up something in his chest that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He swallowed once and tried to think of an encouraging thought to say.

“You’re half frozen in the middle of the fuckin’ mountains and you think this is the happy afterlife?” It was just something to put her at ease; he didn’t want to consider the fact that she accepted he would exist in whatever afterlife she believed in. But his words brought a weak smile to her face and helped her relax.

“Herald, you need rest. I will do what I can for you.” Vivienne said as she settled in to work. Amara nodded absently and slipped out of consciousness again. “Mother Giselle, if you would be so kind as to bring a selection of healing potions.”

“I will bring all we can spare.” The chantry mother bowed her head and set off into the camp. She was immediately approached by a number of the faithful, all looking for word on the Herald.

Vivienne tossed the Commander’s cape aside and directed Cassandra to find blankets that would actually keep her warm. The Iron Bull said he’d handle it and made his way to the outer corner of the clearing his company had settled down in.

“How’s she doing, Chief?” Krem asked upon his leader’s return. Unlike Rocky, Krem truly seemed to hold the Herald up with some reverence. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Madame De Fer’s working on her now. She’s alive, at least.” He leaned over his makeshift bed and picked up all the blankets and furs he used to keep warm. “I think they’ve got things under control. But thanks, Krem.”

Everywhere he went people were saying her name in hushed whispers. Different titles, all the same person: all the same sentiment. _What a miracle, she’s alive, the Maker is with us yet._ Already people were recounting the possible tale of what happened, of how their sacred saviour returned to them from the abyss. He knew what she’d say about that though: she didn’t want to be something other worldly to them. All she wanted to do was help.

To do that, first she needed to get better. When he returned to her side he knelt down and started to layer the blankets over her body. He tucked her into the thick woven fabric to keep her as insulated as possible, and then lay the furs on top. It made her head look comically small to be wrapped up in all those layers but it served the purpose of bringing warmth back into her. With that he backed up and stood next to Cassandra, crossing his arms and keeping his head bowed the necessary level to avoid hitting the canopy. It would be a bitch to get his horns unpierced from the fabric.

“I’m going to find Leliana. With luck, we can decide on a path for the morning.” Cassandra announced, casting a weary look at the Herald before turning to the Qunari. “Stay with her. Let none approach. With the Maker’s blessing, we’ll make it through this.”

The Iron Bull nodded and took a seat out of the way. It wasn’t long until Mother Giselle returned with a selection of potions all made to heal. It was easy to forget how breakable most people were when he was used to taking the brunt of every attack. Especially when it came to her—she was always so damn _fast_. It wasn’t often that she ended up with any grave injuries. Regardless, the First Enchanter worked vigorously to heal her in every way possible. It was over an hour, closer to two, when she finally had reached the limit of her abilities.

Vivienne left to get some rest herself having done all she could; Mother Giselle had been whisked away to perform some ritual for a soldier about to die. The Iron Bull stayed at his post, though. Plenty of people tried to come up, probably just to get a better look at the Herald, but the sight of him and the challenging look he put on kept them at bay. The only exception, thus far, being Varric. He had stayed a respectable distance and waited for the Qunari to make eye contact before approaching. All the Ben-Hassrath training wasn’t necessary to see that Varric posed no threat. He simply came up, looked at the Herald with a sad smile, and asked after her health. The Iron Bull told him what he needed to know and that was the end of it.

His silent surveying went on into the deep hours of the night with little change. People had settled mostly now that the initial commotion was finished, but tempers were beginning to flare between Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. They couldn’t agree on a damn thing, and the debate certainly wasn’t helping morale. Just as he was getting up to stretch his legs Amara began to stir. Her movements were small at first but gradually she built up to a grand yawn and managed to open her eyes. Attempting to sit up was met with a wince so she immediately gave up on the idea. She turned and looked for a sign of someone and smiled when she saw him. It was a small and borderline insignificant gesture, but he’d had _plenty_ of worse reactions from people seeing him as the first thing they wake up to.

“So, _not_ dead then?” Amara said with raised eyebrows. It made him smile and pull his chair right up beside her.

“Nah. You can go ahead and add avalanches and a giant fucking dragon to the list of things that tried and failed to kill you.” He watched as she shifted some of the blankets down and inspected her hands and arms.

“If I’ve got a list, then you definitely have a list.” She said pensively, focusing on the faint light coming from the mark before looking up at him. “We can turn this into a competition, you know.”

“Something tells me that won’t go over well with the others.” The voice of reason. The complacent look on her face quickly morphed at the sound of her companions fighting. It brought a frown onto her features and she tried again to sit up. “Take it easy.”

“Enough!” Cassandra roared in the distance, the lot of them oblivious to how loud they were truly being. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“Well we’re agreed on that much.” Cullen replied snidely. Amara watched as all four of them dispersed to be angry elsewhere.

“Shh.” Mother Giselle said quietly. She stood at the foot of the cot with a soft smile on her face. "You need rest.”

The Iron Bull stood there silently, watching and listening to the exchange between the two women. It was strange that only hours ago hope had been all but lost. The Inquisition didn’t escape the assault at Haven without heavy casualties. Just how many wouldn’t be known until they reached their next destination. There were plenty of injured who likely wouldn’t make it more than a few days—especially not in this cold. But with the return of the Herald they were allowed the comfort of focusing again on other problems.

 “If they’re arguing about what to do next, I should be there.” The Herald challenged, forcing herself to sit up fully. She pushed the blankets and furs off entirely, recognizing that the qunari’s scent would be on her for time to come now. It was a small comfort, in a way.

“Another heated voice won’t help. Even yours. Perhaps _especially_ yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand, and fall. And now…we have seen her return.” Mother Giselle explained. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept no? What we have been called to endure? What we perhaps must come to believe?”

At this, the Herald went quiet. She rubbed the back of her neck and hung her head, trying to figure out how things had come to this. It didn’t much sense to her, trying to throw around answers to these philosophical questions when there were tangible problems very much surrounding them.

“Mother Giselle…I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or not Corypheus is a real, physical threat.” Amara finally got to her feet, refusing to be idle any longer. There was a long road ahead of them and she had no idea where they were going or how they were getting there. “We can’t match that with hope alone.”

The Qunari watched as she walked a few feet out into the camp, looking out at the quartet ignoring each other like children. He looked on as the chantry mother approached the Herald and then began to sing. It was quiet at first, one of the _very many_ chantry songs he didn’t know. But apparently most Andrastians did, because people began to chime in. It was a little eerie, the whole camp singing in synchronization, but it was clear that it was a simple act being used to unify the people. Only, the chantry mother’s means of unifying them meant refocusing on Amara and what she represented to them. It was almost painful to see her standing at the center of everything: even if they hadn’t talked a thousand times about it he could see that she didn’t want to be up on a pedestal. But she allowed it, if it meant she could lessen the load for others. It was a weight she was willing to bear, no matter the toll it took on her.

When the singing finally stopped Solas wandered up behind the Herald and led her off to the outskirts of the camp. The Iron Bull was half tempted to follow, but knew better. For now, he returned to check on the Chargers—make sure Stitches had patched up Grim and Skinner. Grim had taken the worst of things in the ambush but he’d be just fine. Krem was off helping the Chantry people with the wounded and the rest of the Chargers were resting up. It seemed all there was left to do was wait.

Waiting was the worst part, no matter the conditions. Trying to be ready for anything often meant being on edge which in turn made time feel like it was going slower than it actually was. Instead of suffering in the anticipation of what might come next the iron Bull went off to find someone who could demand your attention like no one else.

“Come for a drink, Tiny?” Varric said smoothly as he held up a mug. “Best ale in the valley.”

“You mean _only_ ale in the valley.” Iron Bull corrected. He sat down nonetheless and downed the drink in one gulp. It wasn’t nearly as potent as he needed but it was better than nothing. They were sitting around a campfire not far from where Cassandra and the others were meekly attempting to get back on track. The singing must have brought them back to their senses, though it was weird that of all things _that_ was what woke them up. “So, you gonna put the sing-along in your book when this is all over?”

“I can make a whole chapter out of that.” Varric promised. He launched into an elaborate outline of embellished proportions. In his version of the events things were so much more fantastical (though the past twenty-four hours didn’t exactly need help in the “wow” factor department), with far better lighting and the promise of a happy ending—despite the fact that in reality that wasn’t a guarantee. Especially not in their current place. Varric managed to capture the Qunari’s attention fully—that is, until the Herald once again came into view.

She was holding herself like nothing had happened. Vivienne’s work and the healing potions from the chantry mother no doubt had improved her health, but what she’d been through left wounds that went beyond the physical. Amara was simply very good at pretending otherwise. For some noble who hadn’t done any military work in her life, she certainly knew how to inspire confidence. The two men watched as she approached Cassandra who beckoned the others over. The four of them grouped around the Herald, listening intently while she drew paths through the mountains on the map with her finger. Behind her back she flexed the marked hand as if fending off some persistent pain. Cassandra was the first to nod, Cullen following suit before everyone seemed to be in agreement. With that, all five of them parted ways and moved off to different parts of the camp.

“Is there anything left to drink?” Amara asked upon her approach. Varric was more than happy to oblige and handed her a pint of whatever the hell survived the ambush. She eased herself down onto the log beside the dwarf and took a long drink with her eyes shut.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Varric was lacking any of his usual sarcasm and the Herald knew it. “For a while there it looked like this story might be shaping into a tragedy.”

“The only tragedy here is that no one was around to see me take on two despair demons and a shade on my way here.” She said with a grin. The dwarf raised his eyebrows and leaned in, urging her to elaborate. “Once we have walls around us I’ll tell you the whole tale, my friend, but we’re leaving at first light.”

“Where we heading?” Iron Bull asked as she took another long drink. Her hand went up to wipe her mouth afterwards and she set down the empty mug by the fire.

“Due north, along the mountainside for at least three days. If our luck holds, there should be a place there waiting for us…A place where we can start anew.” The Herald’s eyes were focused on a spot in the distance, her mind clearly consumed by deep thought about the future. “So I suggest we all get some rest.”

“Some of us more than others, I’d say.” Varric said lightly, nodding to her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a smile before he got up and headed off to take her advice and actually sleep. Amara sighed when he was gone and looked up at the cloudless sky, searching for the constellations that she’d long since memorized.

“You doin’ alright?” The Iron Bull’s voice brought her back to earth and she looked over at him. Nodding once, she pushed all her hair back and reached down to tighten the laces on her boot.

“Just…Having a hard time believing I’m actually here.” She admitted. Looking over at him she found nothing but patience and a friend willing to hear whatever she had to say. “I thought that all the rifts would have prepared me for something like this, but that dragon…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life. And then that thing—Corypheus—it was so close to killing me.”

The Qunari listened and let her vent all the things she’d attempted to bury along with the avalanche. She kept her voice quiet so as not to be heard by anyone else. Even Cassandra, who she counted amongst her closest companions, had a clear image of what the Herald represented in her mind. She was a symbol of hope to the Seeker, and no part of her wanted to show she could be anything less. Not at this point, at least. But the Iron Bull had no illusions about her destiny or abilities or role in the Inquisition. All she needed to be, in his eyes, was someone loyal enough to have someone’s back. She’d proven that the first time they met, and a hundred times since then.

“I really should try to sleep, though.” Sometimes, even talking candidly like this with the Bull, she felt exposed. Still, she had needed to tell someone about everything that happened and he’d given that to her with no repercussions. Amara got to her feet and stretched, wincing a little but overall appearing much better than when she was first seen. Then she looked at him—first expectantly, then with a smirk—and spoke with the tone he was used to. “Are you coming to get your fifty-thousand furs or what?”

He smiled and followed after her as she led him back to the bed that had been unofficially deemed _hers_. Plenty of people stared blatantly, some even taking a step in her direction until they caught sight of the Qunari shadowing her. She quickly began to gather the blankets and furs that belonged to him but he stopped her, sorting out the warmest and leaving them for her. She started to protest but he just looked at her incredulously.

“Do I really look like I’m the one out of us who’ll be freezing any time soon?” He challenged, causing her to roll her eyes. She backed down, though, and started to set up her cot for the short sleep before they left. When he turned to leave she reached out and grabbed hold of his forearm. It was a gentle gesture, one that took him a little getting used to.

Amara had a handsy habit, and not in the sexual way he was used to. She was always reaching out to touch people’s arms or shoulders or sometimes even hold their hand. It was a total flipside from the way she was in battle, leaving barely any evidence of herself until her blades were half sunk into an enemy’s torso. But it was the way she showed affection without weighing air down with words. It was the subtlest of movements that promised how much she valued the person. If she bothered to pay attention, she’d see how much more she reached out for the Qunari than anyone else.

“I meant to thank you for finding me and bringing me here.” She said sincerely, hand lingering on his forearm. He resisted the urge to look down at where they connected, resisted the reflex of bringing attention to the gesture.

“Technically, you were the one who found me. You know, by walking right up to where I happened to be sitting.” He smirked and she laughed, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, my plan b was to just slide down the hill and hope for the best. So I must say your intervention was a decided improvement.” Pushing all her hair to one side, the sly smile worked its way back onto her face. It was such a relief—for both of them—that despite everything that happened there was still this familiar space. This ritualistic banter that they could count on, at least for a little while, in the darker times. “I hope you know that you’re the one who’ll be stuck carrying me if I pass out on the journey ahead. You’re my designated mode of transport.”

“ _That_ isn’t in my contract.” He teased, earning a shrug from her. She turned her back and eased down onto the cot, pulling up the borrowed blankets to her neck.

“Take it up with Josephine.” The Herald muttered, turning onto her side and closing her eyes.

The Iron Bull lingered for a moment, a sense of whole-hearted relief hitting him at the sight of her so easily slipping into slumber. He was reminded of the night in the tent on The Storm Coast, the way she’d clung to him for warmth and how easily she trusted him with her life. Piling the remaining blankets and furs onto one shoulder, he set out again to his own bedroll and settled in for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Now and then the strange forces that isolated Skyhold from the cruel cold winds of the Frostback Mountains let a chill through. Perhaps just for good measure, to remind everyone that under different circumstances even the magnificent castle couldn’t shield them from the elements. Today, it was just a quick breeze that pushed back the Inquisitor’s hair as she ascended the stairs to the barracks. _Inquisitor_. As if the Herald of Andraste wasn’t enough of a title, they went and promoted her. How could she politely decline the entirety of Haven’s population and the remainder of the Inquisition’s army? Regardless of the official designation the cold wind reminded her that she was still very much human and not so holy as to warrant special treatment from the weather.

That was made abundantly clear every time they set out for places like the Fallow Mire or the Storm Coast. The latter location held memories that still felt raw, though. The Iron Bull had approached her about a chance to form an alliance with his people, and she was more than willing to (despite the apprehension from some of her allies and advisors). Everything had been going just fine, venatori being cleared out by the camps thanks to her team and the Chargers. But the ease with which things seemed to have gone should have been her first signal that something bad loomed around the corner. The realization that an ultimatum awaited them came far too late in the mission to avoid. It was the alliance or the Chargers. Iron Bull’s people or Iron Bull’s men. A decision hard enough for him being tied to both factions, and yet somehow even harder for her being tied to neither. Because she knew he would want one group saved, but truly would _need_ the others to live.

So she chose. For him, not for the Inquisition—something she would never admit aloud. Because that would make her a biased leader and arguably a bad one. But if she was to be thrown into this seat of power and told to fix the world, she’d be damned if she couldn’t at least use her power to help those she cared about.

“Hey boss.”

And she definitely cared about him.

“You wanted to see me?” Amara asked as she climbed the final step onto the barracks. Once more the wind found her, that chilling breeze that reached down past her skin and shook her up. The smile that spread across her face at the sight of him dropped immediately at the sight of two soldiers charging at him. Two of _her_ soldiers. One of them threw a knife that lodged deep into his shoulder and that was more than enough to spur her forward. “ _Bull!_ ”

“I got it!” He held a hand up at her to keep her where she stood, ripping the knife out and throwing it right into the chest of the first attacker. She debated whether to get involved, but the man fell down dying before she could take another step. The second attacker said something in qunlat before the Iron Bull lifted him up and threw him over the barracks. The qunlat was the only clue that the men were not hers and in fact belonged to the qun. It only slightly put her at ease that such abhorrent behavior didn’t come from those within her own ranks—but still, they had been able to infiltrate her very stronghold which was just as bad if not worse.

“Yeah, yeah, my soul is dust. Yours is scattered all over the ground though, so…” The Iron Bull paused to wince and rotate his shoulder before finally turning back to her. “Sorry boss, I thought I might need back up. Guess I’m not even worth sending professionals for.”

“You knew the assassins were coming?” Amara asked, taking quick steps up to him to survey the damage. He nodded and informed her that something in the guard’s shift tipped him off. She frowned that he even needed to monitor such things, and then felt her heart sink at the realization that this was a direct response to her decision on the Storm Coast. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He insisted with a smile that turned into a smirk. “I’ve hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.

His teasing did nothing to soothe her worry. She was working through a dozen different questions while simultaneously listing the things she needed to do in response to this. But first and foremost, his health.

“What if they used poison?

“Oh they definitely used poison.” The Iron Bull looked down at his wound and touched it gently. “Saar-qamek. Liquid form. If I hadn’t been dosing myself with the antidote I’d be going crazy and puking my guts up by now. As it is, it stings like shit but that’s about it.”

The Inquisitor swatted his hand away so he wouldn’t risk adding infection to potential blood poisoning. Letting out a heavy sigh she looked behind him at the dead viddathari who could have been amongst them for hours or weeks and she wouldn’t have known. It made her angry. It made her scared. It made her imagine it was him lying dead instead of the attacker. _That_ made her panic.

“Are you interested in getting some payback?” He liked hitting things on good days, so she wondered what the bar was for days-when-your-former-somewhat-kinsmen-try-to-murder-you. As evident by his shrug, he was opting for none of the above.

“Against who, the entire Ben-Hassrath?” The Iron Bull asked, his tone harboring the slightest defeated inflection. “Besides, it wasn’t serious. Sending two guys with blades against _me_? That’s not a hit, that’s a formality. Just making it clear that I’m Tal-Vashoth…Tal-Va-Fucking-Shoth.”

She couldn’t let him spiral like this. It was bad enough that he was effectively cut off from the only culture or kin he’d ever known; she wouldn’t let him think this somehow made him a monster. Not while she still drew breath.

“You acted like a Tal-Vashoth for years, and that didn’t change you.” Amara insisted. “Neither does this.”

“That was just a role, this is my _life_ …as one of _those_. I’ve killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth in Seheron. Bandits, murderers, bastards who turned their back on the qun.” He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, furious to his bones at the very idea. “And now I’m one of them.”

“Bullshit,” She said sharply, crossing her arms and taking a step closer. It forced him to meet her eye, but he shook his head and diverted his gaze. “You’re a good man.”

“Without the qun to live by…” He began to protest, halting only when she reached out to touch his arm.

“Hey, you’re a _good man_.” Amara challenged, lingering her hand on his skin until he was able to look at her once more. She wouldn’t lose him like this, not to himself. “If the Ben-Hassrath don’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Thanks boss.” He said after a moment, offering the smallest of smiles that helped to satisfy her. She released him and took a step back, eyes immediately going back to his injury. “Anyway… I’ll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened. But boss…whatever I miss, whatever I regret… _this_ is where I want to be. And whenever you need an ass kicked, the Iron Bull is with you.”

A genuine smile took over her face as she thanked him. Walking behind him she pushed against his lower back to steer him towards the stairs. It was a strategic move to get the both of them far away from the body that stood as a reminder of not only the day’s events but the still-raw impact of the Storm Coast. As they walked through the grounds of Skyhold she was approached by a few messengers and the next guard rotation who wanted to report the death on the barracks. She gave a very quick briefing before promising a report would soon follow. Iron Bull began to poke and prod at the injury again causing her to pull his hand away and give him a warning look.

“What? It’s already poisoned, how much worse could it get?” He reasoned which caused her to fight off a smile. The Inquisitor shook her head and firmly put his hand at his side in a silent assertion for him to listen to her. So he did.

“So do you just go around hoarding antidotes to a dozen different poisons,” Amara began as they passed underneath the stairs that led into the main hall. “Or does Stitches just keep a very well supplied stock based on prior experience with you?”

“Little of both, I’d say.” Iron Bull explained, looking down at her with his good eye and resisting the urge to poke at the wound again. “Figured something like this would happen after the Coast. I’ve used enough poison myself to know which one would be their go-to for trying to take me down. I’ve been dosing myself ever since we got back the Skyhold—and it tastes like _shit_ in case you were wondering.”

“Are you sure you weren’t drinking poultices again, Bull?” She teased, making him roll his eyes but laugh all the same. Stitches had lamented that the qunari had a tendency of downing whatever healing concoctions were sent his way—regardless of whether they were meant to be ingested or simply applied.

“Laugh it up, boss. If Stitches worked a little faster he’d tell me this shit _before_ I go chugging rashvine and what tastes like a damn giant’s asshole.”

They paused outside of the Healing House, moving out of the way for the group of messengers leaving the requisition office behind them.

“Have a lot of experience with giant’s assholes, do you?” She teased, cocking an eyebrow. He groaned and rolled his eyes, turning from her and pushing the door open. He ducked his head, as he usually had to, and went inside. The cots were all full but considering the sheer population of her forces it was a miracle that injury rates were this low. The surgeon did a double take as the two of them entered, not used to having the qunari as a patient—he pretty much always relied on his own healer. But this was where the Inquisitor led him, so this was where he followed.

“Lenaia, if you could kindly find someone to help him I’d be grateful.” Amara said in that calm, sincere voice that made her doomed for the head of the Inquisition. She was too good at this for someone who didn’t have ulterior motives. Too seasoned in the way of things for someone so politically naïve.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” The surgeon looked around at the lack of cots (let alone cots the qunari’s size) and hesitated before motioning to a low box below the window. She ushered Iron Bull over to it and he sat when Amara nodded, watching as she came over and hopped onto the window ledge above him. While Lenaia began searching for clean supplies, Amara hooked a leg over his uninjured shoulder and began to absently sway it while she scratched at a scar on her wrist. He was as good as a leg rest with the height she was at, and he didn’t seem to mind the subtle distraction for when Lenaia came back. “I must admit, Inquisitor, I’ve never seen this kind of colouration around a wound before. Was this from sparring?”

“An attack, actually.” Normally she might not have mentioned something that could so easily make someone feel unsafe, but the circumstances called for complete transparency. She wouldn’t risk the qunari’s health simply to save face. “The blade used was poisoned, but I believe Iron Bull’s healer has the antidote on hand to use once we are finished here.”

“Seta,” The surgeon called to an elf girl rolling up batches of clean bandages. She looked up quickly with wide eyes and anxiously awaited her orders. “Go round to the Herald’s Rest and fetch a dose of this antidote…a _big_ dose.” She added after looking her patient up and down. Amara bit back a smile.

“Right away, ma’am.” The girl disappeared immediately, speeding out of the cabin and towards the tavern. In the mean-time Lenaia began to clean the wound with an elfroot mixture that was optimal for sterilizing wounds and promoting healing even without any alchemic or magical aid. Elfroot was unique in that it didn’t sting like other plant-based concoctions did and the plant itself was incredibly common throughout Thedas. The Inquisitor had collected more than her fair share throughout their journeys—to the point where she was almost sick of seeing it. But its healing abilities were undeniable.

The wound was cleaned thoroughly before the needle was threaded. Lenaia had an incredibly steady hand, moving quickly but carefully as she began to stitching the qunari up. In the heat of battle or in the midst of a surprise attack, adrenaline had a habit of numbing the pain of most injuries providing they weren’t life threatening. This was even more so for Iron Bull, who Amara had seen take three arrows to the back, ignore them, and go on to chop the heads off of all three archers with one swing of his axe. Afterwards, he made a joke about acupuncture not being all it was shaped up to be. After the rush of a fight though the pain seemed to be more realistic; even so he didn’t do much more than slightly clench his teeth as a needle repeatedly punctured through his split skin.

“Here you are, ma’am.” Seta appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath and holding five small bottles of a greenish-yellow liquid. It looked like pus, and if Bull was to be believed it tasted just as bad. But if it was the difference between life and death she would down it and be thankful. Seta set the bottles down at her mentor’s command but brought one over. Lenaia finished knotting the thread of the last stitch and cut the extra off before turning to inspect the potion. “A recipe was provided as well.”

“Excellent. I’ll be sure to have Elan Ve’mal make more in the event we need it.” The surgeon handed the bottle to Iron Bull and insisted he drink it while she began to unroll some bandages. “I’d rather you drink that now than later, and don’t give me a fuss about wearing these cloths. You warrior types go getting yourselves cut up like no tomorrow then refuse to cover wounds and wonder why I’ve got to cut off arms and legs months later when the infection has set in. You need these for at least a week and it best be changed every day. Understand?”

“I’ll nag him every day, don’t you worry.” Amara chimed in, tapping her nails on the qunari’s horn. The surgeon seemed satisfied with her response and got up when the white fabric was successfully wrapped around her patient’s chest. With the potion bottle empty and her job done, she turned to the nearest patient and gently woke him, explaining that it was time for his walk. The man got up and took the crutches Lenaia offered before slowly limping towards the door. The surgeon and Sata walked on either side of him, providing encouragement as he walked outside.

The cabin was now silent save for the gentle breaths of the remaining patients, all of whom were peacefully asleep. Amara slid off the windowsill and looked around at them before turning to her companion. She inspected the bandage and fixed the places where the trim had folded up.

“Glad that’s over with.” The qunari said, finally able to poke at the injury without any scolding. “But I’m sure as hell not keeping this on for a week. A day, _maybe_.”

“Bull.” She chided, giving him a look. He smirked and challenged her wordlessly. She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. The words were building up at the base of her throat, the guilt, and she figured it would be best to just get it over with. “Look, I know….I know you probably don’t want to talk about things so you don’t have to.”

“Boss, don’t worry about it.” He said easily, all traces of teasing now gone.

“Just let me get this out of my head.” She insisted, taking a step closer to him and meeting his eye. “I won’t pretend I know what it’s like to go through what happened on the Storm Coast. The most I can do is imagine how hard it was for you. I just need you to know that it was on me, Bull, not you. It was my call, my decision, so if you’re going to hate someone let it be me, not yourself.”

He couldn’t hate her though, even if what she said was true (it wasn’t). Because on that cliff-side, with the rain pouring down on them like it always did, he _needed_ her to make the decision. He should have chosen his people, but he wanted to choose his men. That understanding was enough of a battle, so when he looked to her at Gatt’s words it was with absolute desperation. A genuine plea that she could make the call for him. That she would pick who he wanted so he didn’t have to. So the guilt couldn’t be his. But of course it never works like that, and even though she made that sacrifice—losing a huge ally for her own Inquisition, just for him—he still held that guilt. That loneliness. That horror at what he’d let happen. What he’d wanted her to make happen. The second he turned to her to make the choice, he’d made one himself. She understood that, and took on the burden for him.

“You know as well as I do what human nobles are like. Orlais to the Free Marches, it’s a constant mess of lies and deception and the Game. I was expecting the same when I was pushed into this Inquisition, and on some level it holds up. But this gig has given me the chance to meet a lot of people and I mean it when I say…you’re the best of them, Bull. I rely on you so much more than I should, and whether you see it or not you’re the best friend I’ve got. If you believe in me at all, if you trust me in the slightest, then you’ve got to trust what I feel about you. You _are_ good. You _do_ good. And I will _always_ be on your team.”

It hit him like a shield bash to the chest. How the hell was he supposed to respond to something like that? He was used to confessions of love from people he slept with. He was used to drunken hate speeches from people in different villages. He had encountered a million different types of honesty being hurled at him and a million more types disguised as lies. But this? He didn’t know what to do with this. How did people normally respond to genuine affection expressed by someone who actually knows them? Krem was the only person who’d ever stuck with him for a long enough time to have a real bond of friendship, but Amara…she was something else. And, because she knew him, she didn’t expect any words in response. So as a poignant way to end the conversation she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He hesitated a moment before returning the gesture, but as he did it felt like a weight lifting off of him. She had given him forgiveness when he needed it most; she was his ultimate exit strategy from a problem he should have kept to himself. With her arms around him he could believe how she might be a little holy, if not a little magical. So he held onto her a little tighter and she didn’t shy away when he pressed his face to the crook of her neck. This wasn’t someone looking for a one night stand trying to butter him up. This wasn’t someone trying to trick him or otherwise get something useful from him. This was just someone genuinely caring about his well-being, physical and otherwise.

When she pulled away a hand lingered on his face and she watched him a moment before leaning forward and placing a kiss on his cheek. He smiled in response but still couldn’t manage to say anything. She released him entirely and headed towards the door, but was stopped short when it opened. A messenger spoke quickly saying that Cassandra was looking for her, but the Inquisitor made sure it wasn’t some kind of emergency. In the same rapid way of talking the messenger promised it wasn’t, that was just the way he spoke. Amara thanked him and he rushed off, but before she could get out the door herself she was called back.

“Hey boss?” Bull finally got to his feet from the makeshift seat on the ground. The Inquisitor had one hand braced on the door as she looked back at him expectantly. “You gonna come by for drinks later with the boys? First round’s on me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She grinned, nodding to him once before continuing out the door. The Iron Bull stood by the window and watched her get whisked away by the Seeker. The feeling that started when she hugged him had yet to leave and it was making him uneasy, not being able to control it. When one of the patients coughed and began to stir, he quickly left the cabin. Didn’t want to scare the shit out of the guy by being the first thing he saw when he woke up. Instead the qunari headed towards the castle so he could follow up with Red about the attack.

*~*~*~*

“Thanks for this, Cassandra.” Amara was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the Seeker’s bed with her hands in her lap. Since she left the Healing House it had been a whirlwind of things that suddenly needed her attention. Letters from potential allies and sworn enemies alike that had all been summarized and read to her by Josephine. Normally that was a day’s work in itself, but Leliana wanted to speak with her about the attack and Cullen needed to get her approval on a request to send troops from one spot to another. This was on top of all the renovations that were going on around the castle which she was consulted on despite having absolutely _zero_ experience with what stones best hold up a thousands-year-old architectural masterpiece.

“It’s my pleasure.” The Seeker peeled off her gloves and other bulky elements of her armor before sitting down behind the Inquisitor. After cracking her knuckles a few times she reached for a brush and began to gently drag it through Amara’s hair. Neither of them had any sisters growing up to exchange these simple acts with; a quiet moment spent together that undercut the constant buzzing of Skyhold. Cassandra was easily one of the Inquisitor’s closest friends—which amused her to no end considering their relationship began with the Seeker screaming at her while she was in shackles.

Cassandra was very different from Iron Bull and Varric in that she was very clearly a believer that Amara was Andraste’s Herald. But even with this vehement belief, the Seeker never pressured her into the ideal. Never asked for a blessing from her or insisted the ground she walked on was hallowed. It was a very important distinction, even if knowing the intensity of her belief sometimes made Amara anxious to perform perfectly.

“Please let me know if I hurt you.” Cassandra said apprehensively as she set the brush on the bed. “It has been some time since I did this to another.”

“You do remember we’ve fought a dragon, right?” The Inquisitor teased as a means of reassuring that a few tugs on her hair would be fine.

“Yes. I am aware.” She replied tersely, yanking ever so slightly to make a point. Amara slapped her knee in retaliation but Cassandra’s hands by this point were too full of hair to fight back. It was for the best though, because the braid she was weaving was intricate and demanded attention.

Amara relaxed after that and let the rhythmic tugging of her hair become a backdrop for all the thoughts flying around in her head. She started to calm and make sense of them so they could be sorted into things that needed to be done sooner rather than later. Conversations that could be put off, mission plans that needed doing by week’s end, and what in the world was supposed to be done about the underwater rift in Crestwood. Shaking her head to try to silence her mind, she instead had Cassandra recount tales of Nevarra. Its great necropolis, its unique customs, and its very apparent obsession with dragon hunting. It wasn’t often that she spoke about her homeland, nor with everyone, but the Inquisitor was a special case—the notion was a gift in and of itself. To be on someone’s list of exceptions, special cases, favourites. It made her happier than it should.

When the Seeker had pulled all of her hair into an intricate braid that went down to her lower back she finally tied it off and let out a content sigh. Amara got up quickly and inspected the braid in the mirror, grinning and running her fingertips along the bumpy line of it.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” she said sincerely. The comment made Cassandra smile herself, then of course she launched into a campaign of pointing out what she considered to be mistakes in her work. “I’m telling you, I love it.”

“I…suppose that is what matters.” She got to her feet and reached for the equipment she’d removed to be more comfortable.

“Oh, leave that for once would you?” Amara protested. “Come have a drink with us at the tavern.”

“Another time, perhaps. If you’re going to drink, then Iron Bull will be there too.” Cassandra said with a raised eyebrow. “And when he is there, the night will end in you doing _something_ …strange. Likely destructive”

“Speaking from personal experience, Right Hand of the Divine?” The Inquisitor challenged with a grin. It made the Seeker groan and roll her eyes, but that was the end of the discussion. They said their goodbyes and the Inquisitor headed down through the main hall and into the upper yard of Skyhold.

Night was falling quickly and groundskeepers had already lit all of the torches and candelabras necessary to allow everyone to actually see where they were walking. Moonlight, after all, could only do so much. There were still people rushing about to do one thing or another but most were preparing to retire from the night. It helped that the cooks truly outdid themselves with a fantastic feast courtesy of the August Rams that had been brought back from the last excursion. Amara’s belly may have been positively content but she was more than ready for a few drinks so the noise in her head might stop for the night.

The noise from the tavern was heard before she even got there. All of the windows were glowing with the pulsing light of the fireplace and candles within. Roaring laughter and drunken songs could be heard bursting through the slightly ajar windows and escaping through the gaps between the door and the walls. The building was budding with life and it worked to relax her before she even entered. All noises and smells intensified the moment she walked inside, but more overwhelming was the cohesive chorus of ‘ _Inquisitor!_ ’ that rang out upon entry.

All of the Chargers were sitting ‘round their leader, hands full of mugs even fuller. She was beckoned over at once and took a moment to bring the long braid over one shoulder before pulling up a seat between Bull and Skinner.

“It’s about damn time.” Bull chided, nodding to Rocky who was having trouble staying seated. “He’s nearly drunk the whole place dry. There isn’t much left for ya.”

“Somehow I think I’ll manage.” She pulled up a chair to prop her feet up on and settled in to relax. Krem appeared with a number of mugs in his grip, one of which was promptly passed to Amara and the others distributed around to those who needed refills. “Bull, you said you would buy my first _three_ rounds right?”

He paused for a moment trying to recollect their earlier conversation but when she looked at him with an attempt and innocence he quickly caught on. After a moment of silent deliberation he grunted and said “ _Fine._ Three it is.”

“Thanks.” She grinned sweetly and downed the mug almost immediately. The Chargers applauded and raised their own mugs to her. The Inquisitor gave a little bow of her head. Reaching out her leg, she kicked at the qunari’s shin. “First round, then?”

“It’s your second drink.” The Iron Bull contested as he got to his feet. Making herself comfortable and looking up at him with a sly smile, she raised an eyebrow.

“First one that _you_ will be paying for.” Even from below, she had the upper hand in the conversation. Words bent to her very will, people even more so. She had the whole world at her feet, and she might as well have had him there too. He stalked off to the bar to follow through on her request as she launched into conversation with the Chargers.

At the Inquisitor’s request, Krem was re-telling a story from the Charger’s past that involved a rich noble, a cave, giant spiders, and a slightly lunatic idea of giant-baiting. Amara was absolutely enthralled in the tale, amused beyond measure, but couldn’t help stealing a few glances at Bull as he sauntered back with his big arms full of drinks. One of the serving girls stopped him on his way back, biting her lip and batting her eyes at him. Amara looked away immediately and pulled herself back into the story, ignoring the feeling in her chest. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough to engage that part of her brain.

“Well you _did_ sign on for it.” Amara pointed out. Krem shrugged and conceded but promised that nothing can really prepare you for a giant running after you.

The Iron Bull was polite to the girl standing between him and the others, telling her kindly that he’d be busy tonight. She was clearly a little let down but understanding, going back to her circle of friends and plopping down. If it had been any other night of drinking he probably would have said yes. But he’d invited Amara, he couldn’t just leave her. That would be rude, right? It didn’t help going back to her though, because when he handed her a mug her fingers innocently brushed against his and he couldn’t help remember that when he was fucking the serving girl he accidentally imagined it was the Inquisitor.

“I say we play a drinking game!” Stitches declared from across their little circle of chairs. There was a collective roar of affirmation from the Chargers, but they looked to the Inquisitor for a pick. In the midst of a drink, she quickly swallowed and licked her lips. Looking up at the ceiling while she thought, a hand absently went to the end of her long braid and toyed with it.

“How about Tells and Tales?” She offered. It was what all the young nobles played together in forgotten rooms during the innumerable balls their parents insisted they attend. That, or truth or dare (which truly always ended up in a game of kiss so and so in front of everyone). Many a marriage contracts arose from those nights. “Everyone takes a turn telling two lies and one truth, the person to your right has to guess what the truth is. If they guess right you drink, if they guess wrong everyone else drinks.”

“The Chief will _never_ get drunk with that game.” Dalish grumbled, leaning back in her chair. The motion made the staff [or bow (really, it was a staff)] roll off the back of the chair it was propped against. She moved quickly to catch it, avoiding the eye of anyone so as not to launch into the same discussion that always arose. “He’s too good at reading people.”

“Maybe you all just have very poor lying abilities.” Amara teased, causing the qunari to smirk. Her words seemed to make everyone puff up their chest a little and determined to prove her wrong. Except Grim. Grim just grunted. “So who wants to go first?”

“I will.” Skinner said with her usual blank face. Stitches turned to face her and the elf gritted her teeth. “I killed a man in Orlais. I killed a man in Denerim. I killed a werewolf in the Brecilian Forest.”

“It’s supposed to be two lies and one truth, not three true stories.” Rocky chastised, earning a death glare from the elf. The look made him choke a little on his drink and the ensuing laughter seemed to appease Skinner. She turned to Stitches and awaited his answer. He thought long and hard before eventually coming up with a decision.

“I…I think the werewolf one is true.” He said carefully. All the Chargers burst out in a debate, yelling over each other to say he was stupid or wrong or it was clearly a different answer. After a few moments Bull held his hand up and they quieted down, leaning forward waiting for Skinner’s response.

With pursed lips and the slightest twitch of her nose, she huffed. “He’s right.”

Everyone burst into cheers, Rocky leaning over Dalish to pat Stitches on the back. Skinner took her obligatory drink and crossed her arms, looking away from the healer. The Dwarf all but demanded the full story but Skinner narrowed her eyes and shook her head once.

“ _Not_ part of the game.”

The Inquisitor was definitely interested in a backstory but the elf was right: she wasn’t required to explain. Stitches sat up a little straighter and, gripping a still-full mug, turned to face Dalish.

“Alright, let’s see…” He scratched at the stubble growing on his chin and then came up with something. “So, I once had to set casts on both arms and legs of a comrade…uh…I punched a noble woman in the face…and…well, this one time, I almost poisoned someone by giving them spindleweed drought instead of elfroot.”

“The one about the casts. You seem to keep company that gets injured quite badly.” Dalish seemed content with her answer, but Stitches grinned and shook his head. Everyone groaned but drank up as per the rules. Some, a little more eager than others.

“Once in a market in Val Gamord I was yanking on the string holding the tent up on my bartering stall. I pulled too hard, the string broke loose, and that’s how I punched a Dowager. She accepted my apology, but I wasn’t allowed to sell there anymore.”

Dalish went next, explaining that she had lived amongst three different clans over her life, that she once mistook a bogfisher for a short horse loose in their encampment, and that she was set on fire by her best friend in her youth. Rocky seemed certain that the clan bit was true, and answered with too much certainty and cockiness to be right (as Krem scolded). He was right, because it turns out Dalish being set on fire was the true story. An accidental misfire of a spell, but she was set on fire all the same. Everyone drank deep, pausing to refill their rounds. The Inquisitor made eye contact with Bull when the drinks came round, holding up two fingers to signify he still owed her one more.

“Alright, Lieutenant.” Rocky cracked his knuckles and Krem leaned forward intently. “Story number one: I used to be a nug-hunter when I was younger. Story number two: my accident in Orzammar got a law named after me. Story number three: I could blow up all of Skyhold with a single concoction.”

“I don’t think even _your_ best could bring this fortress down, Rocky. There’s magic binding this place.” Krem said pensively. He studied his dwarven companion and ignored the whispered opinions the other Chargers were offering. “I’m going with story one. Nug hunter. If you really did get some sort of law named after you in Orzammar, you’d never shut up about it.”

Rocky let out a burp and looked defeated, leaving Krem feel mildly confident, but the dwarf erupted in laughter. Slapping his knee he shook his head, announcing that he would rather listen to a sermon about Paragon Branka than hunt nugs for a living. He actually _did_ have a law named after him. Or rather, a restriction. More like a ban. A ban on himself from ever entering. Everyone cried out that he was a cheat, that it shouldn’t count, or he should drink triple as a penalty, but the Chargers eventually turned to their Chief for the final decision. After a little deliberation, he made a decree.

“Fuck it, we all drink.” Bull said, raising his mug. “Rocky’s answer stands.”

Amara gladly followed the rules and the others followed suit but now looked to Amara to pull in a winning score. It was strange the way the group rallied behind whoever was currently guessing. It didn’t matter that there technically weren’t any teams and that ultimately the original objective of their night out was to get drinking. Still, the prospect of somehow winning, even vicariously, was intoxicating.

“Alright Aclassi, hit me with your best.” Amara turned to face the Lieutenant and propped and arm on the back of her chair.

“I had a mission with the Tevinter army which involved twenty of us guarding what turned out to be the wrong magister’s grimoire, a chantry sister once tried to convince me I was possessed because of my eye colour, and I’ve never actually shot an arrow.”

“Well, the first two sound entirely plausible but that just makes me think you’re trying to throw me off and the third one is actually true…” The inquisitor drummed her fingertips against her knee for a few moments. “I’ll go with my instinct. The first one is true.”

Krem nodded but sighed, certain he’d fooled her. He took his drink while the other Chargers cheered her. At last it came to her and she faced the qunari. Biting at her lip, she tried to think what she could come up with that might actually trick the Ben-Hassrath. Well. _Ex-Ben-Hassrath_. What could she talk about that he knew nothing about? Stories from Ostwick? It was her only bet, he would be able to figure out any stories from her time with the Inquisition.

“My great-aunt’s twelfth-born grandchild lost his head in an accidental execution, I have received a total of one-hundred-sixteen marriage proposals in my life, and I once helped my cousin Lady Osher Lotharn Trevelyan Bayart avoid a suitor by switching his shampoo with bright blue dye.”

She figured if she spoke quickly enough and threw in some long names or relations, it might trip him up. But the stories were just the first part: now she actually had to keep a blank face while he silently studied her. He leaned all the way forward, so close she could count the lines in his iris, and waited for her to give some tell. All the drinking was starting to get to her head though which made it harder than it usually was. Still, she didn’t flinch away from, didn’t miss a breath, and didn’t show any signs of nerves.

“Marriage.” He said finally, narrowing his good eye. For the briefest of moment’s she’d forgotten the context and her heart skipped, but she quickly recovered and grinned victoriously.

“Wrong.”

It sounded like the whole tavern exploded with cheers. The Chargers were beside themselves that their Chief had been bested, but the qunari seemed entirely confused at the notion. She was, of course, lying, but they didn’t need to know that.

“So what’s the truth then?” He challenged, sitting back in his chair. “The false execution? No way, your whole house would riot.”

“And riot they did. The Chantry all but condemned the executioner and the family responsible, they were driven from the Free Marches entirely. Not Marcher with a religious bone in their body has traded with them in decades.”

“What was your cousin’s name?” The Iron Bull pushed, determined to trip her up.

“Lord Martyn, sixth son of Lord Amorell and Lady Maleryn. Born under a blue moon, actually.” She rolled out the lies as naturally as possible, knowing that even with research into her family he couldn’t possibly memorize the last hundred years of House Trevelyan’s ancestry.”

The qunari was ready to continue his interrogation but the rest of the Chargers urged him to keep the game going. It was the final round, and his turn to spin some tales. Grim had apparently ignored the rules of the game and drank when he pleased for he was now slumped over the chair and drooling a little. This started a bickering war amongst the mercenaries over who would be best to try to win against the Chief. In the midst of their decision making Amara looked over at Iron Bull and wiggled three fingers, looking up at him with child-like eyes. He got the hint that she was claiming her third and final drink so he went and got one for her. When he returned they’d decided it would be a group effort, that everyone would get to discuss their answer.

“I was hired once to kill a farmer for having a better crop yield than his neighbour’s, I used to have hair down to my ass, and I cut a guy’s head off so clean it actually stayed on his neck for a few moments before falling. And yeah, he still blinked.”

There was one moment of silence before all the Chargers started a furious debate amongst themselves. They were pretty evenly divided over the three options and all of them vehemently believed they’d picked the right option. Some resorted to bringing up who had answered incorrectly already. This somehow disqualified their responses, and they narrowed it down to the second or last one. They were split fifty/fifty over the choices, and so they looked to Amara for the tiebreaker.

It was her turn to study him. He, of course, was about as readable as a statue of the Maker. But she was determined: what would win the game? Violence was too obvious. A mission like the first one was likely to have been disclosed to his company at some point—Rocky was even convinced Bull had told the story before. But the hair was so out of place. Bull, the shaved headed qunari, with long hair? It seemed unlikely.

It seemed the best bet.

“I think you had long, luscious locks all the way down to your ass, Bull.” She said finally. It made him laugh and he looked down for a moment, keeping all the Chargers on the edge of their seat waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know about luscious, but yeah, you’re right.”

You’d think they’d defeated Corypheus himself. They all got to their feet and handed him drink after drink to chug as punishment. She drank with him, a little shocked at how quickly it disappeared. After the game everyone began to move around again. She went from one conversation to another, thankful that she’d listened and come out for drinks. It had definitely helped clear her mind for a while. But the realization that enjoyment was working suddenly made all her responsibilities and fears and doubts begin to creep back in. She slipped away to get another drink and the Iron Bull watched her go. It kinda worked out for everyone that she got along so well with them. Krem still regarded her with a little holiness, but that didn’t seem to get in the way of them being friends. One big happy fuckin’ family.

By the time Amara came back she had nearly finished another drink; having gotten sidetracked by a number of people on her way. Of course she was usually friendly, but with all the alcohol now she was _bubbly_. She was laughing to herself while trying somewhat to hide it as she moved past the scattered chairs and sparse crowd of people. Marching right up to where the qunari sat, she lifted his arm like a lever and sat on the armrest. With her legs dangling over the edge she let his forearm cover her thighs and took a deep drink from her mug. The Inquisitor wiped her mouth and almost giggled before looking around to make sure the coast was clear.

“I have to ask you something.” She said with a weak attempt at seriousness. He raised his eyebrow at her but played along, nodding as a means of encouragement. “You’ve got to keep just between us though, okay?”

“You got it, boss.” He promised, noticing the way she subconsciously leaned towards him. He would be lying if he said it bothered him. Amara reached her right hand across to brace herself on the other armrest and leaned close to his ear.

“Do you think you can lift a dragon’s skull?” She asked with a grin, sitting up straight to finish her drink and set the mug on the free chair by her feet. He was now very interested in whatever her proposal was, slightly intoxicated or otherwise. With a single nod from him to assure the answer was yes, she pursed her lips to hold back her excitement and leaned in again. This time her cheek brushed against his, but she didn’t shy away. “I want to take the dragon’s skull from the Undercroft and set it up as a throne in the main hall. We have to do it tonight before I change my mind. Are you in?”

“Let’s be real here, you had me at dragon skull.” Bull said honestly. She smiled wide but worked to hide it quickly when a group of people walked by. She realized a lot of looks were being cast her way likely because she was all but sitting in the qunari’s lap. If she was being honest with herself, there were far worse things people could think of her than she might be involved with Bull. In fact, she had to admit she was interested in him. She made that decision back when she all but asked him how qunari dealt with sex and love. But especially given how vocal he was about his hook ups with the serving girls, she was certain he would have acted by now if he felt the same. Still, she was more than content to simply have him in her life as a friend.

“I’m going to go to the main hall. Wait ten minutes then follow.” With that she straightened up, fixed her braid, and headed out into the night. She bade goodnight to those she encountered along the way but her mind was focused on how they were going to get the skull back through the door to the undercroft quietly and what she should put on it to make it comfortable. She still didn’t necessarily love sitting on the thing and judging people, but if she was going to have to do it anyways…

By the time she made it to the main hall and attempted to look inconspicuous, the qunari was already approaching. There were a few workers on their way to the east wing but they paid the two of them no mind. On her order, Bull followed her to the door of the undercroft and pushed it open for them. She tried to stop giggling as they disappeared down the stairs, but it became less of an issue the further they were from potential eavesdroppers. The undercroft itself was empty but the water still fell ferociously from the rocks above the opening on the far side. It was cold now that the forge had been put out, so cold that a chill took over the Inquisitor. But the anticipation of their little escapade was enough to push her onward.

In the middle of the room the skull was perched on a brass stand, surrounded by buckets full of other salvaged materials from the dragon that needed to be refined before they could be used in crafting. Massive scales glimmered in the dim light, shifting from orange to green to red to white with the slightest change in footing. Sections of the strong but lightweight webbing had been rolled up but bits of dried out flesh were still sticking out here and there. The bones took up the most space next to the skull, and they were a rare deep brown colour as if they had been charred by the very flame the dragon breathed. None of this compared, though, to the skull itself. Massive and magnificent and entirely intact, blood still stained the impressive teeth of the beast. The horns curled outwards and had ridges all along that would be perfect as armrests, and the lower jaw was already disconnected from the rest of the skull and could serve as a more-than-adequate seat.

“There it is.” She said in an airy voice. “All that remains of the great Ferelden Frostback.”

“One of the best fights of my life.” Iron Bull said with a grin, crossing his arms as they stared at the old bone.

The dragon had been terrorizing the Hinterlands to the point where the only port for miles that could be used was abandoned. This forced people to head for Redcliffe, but even that was removed as an option once the village closed itself off from the rest of the region. This left refugees stranded and stuck between the Mage-Templar war with only their feet—or, if they were lucky, some horses—to get to safety. It was probably the scariest moment of her life next to the whole conclave explosion. But definitely worth it. Amara swayed for a moment and lost her footing, stumbling back into the qunari with a thud. He gently straightened her up but watched as she inched forward to run her fingers over the bone. She turned quickly to face him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He nodded and walked up to her, bending over and carefully gripping the massive skull. Heaving it up, she stood in awe for a moment at what she constantly referred to as his infinite strength. It impressed her, it entranced her, and it kind of turned her on. She quickly gathered a few fabrics and led the way up to the main hall. They moved slower the closer they got to the door in case there was anyone up and about. Just a few steps from the top she spun around and held up her hand.

“I have to tell you something.” She said seriously. The qunari readjusted his grip on the very heavy dragon’s skull, wondering if she forgot he was carrying the massive thing. The serious demeanor slipped and gave way to a playful smile. “I lied. I never had a cousin that was wrongfully executed. You picked right, I just wanted to win with something that…win something that didn’t matter as much.”

“I figured.” He shrugged, looking at her with endearment when she seemed pleased. He couldn’t blame her wanting to play and win something simple, not when most of her decisions were the difference between life or death, war or peace. With the little confession over with they kept going. She peeked into the main hall but beckoned him after when the coast was clear. She lifted the red throne and heaved it out of the way so he could lay down the dragon skull. “So…a hundred and sixteen proposals, huh?”

Repairs to the castle were still being done constantly, so Amara hoped that any noise they made would be dismissed as nothing more than a few late night workers trying to get back on schedule. He set down the skull carefully and lifted the upper section up and back as she’d wanted it.

“Almost all of them were on behalf of Heads of Houses, not actually men who wanted to marry me.” Amara dismissed, missing the way he raised an eyebrow. Clearly not buying it. He held the skull in place while she got it to stay put.

“Yeah, somehow I doubt that boss.” The Iron Bull asserted. A small smile slashed across her face that she probably could have withheld if she was sober. She held up a couple of different fabrics before settling on a deep blue one with gold embellishments. There would be time later for finesse; for now she grabbed the cushions from the old throne and threw them down in the bottom jaw of the skull before draping the fabric over them. Just like that, she had a brand new throne. Terrifying and trendy all at once. Standing beside him to take in the sight, she nodded once. Satisfied. “You gonna try it out?”

“I don’t really like sitting there, to be honest.” She said with a heavy sigh. Her buzz was dissipating, now she was devolving into a whole other kind of drunk haze. Amara was sombre when she looked up at the qunari and thanked him. He promised it was no big deal. “Iron Bull, could you…Would you walk me up? I already tripped once and I’m mostly certain it’ll happen again. It’s a much bigger fall on the way up all those cursed stairs.”

“What was it you called me back in the Frostbacks?” He asked as they headed for the door that led up to her quarters. “Your designated mode of transportation?”

It made her laugh but she was right to ask him; the first flight and she nearly face-planted. He got her to her feet and let her hold onto his arm as they walked up.

Her words from a conversation in Haven echoed back to him through his memories. She’d been asking all this stuff about qunari culture and about him, and then she bluntly started talking about love and sex and all that. It was strange for her that he’d never had explicitly romantic feelings for someone. But what she said about… _connecting with someone, body and soul_. When he looked at her he could imagine the possibility. Or was he just horny? He almost hoped he was just horny. The thought of anything else was…well, completely new territory and frankly a little nerve-wracking. Hell, he’d practically brought her home to meet the family when she first met the Chargers for a drink, and now it happened often enough that Krem had her preferred beverage memorized. She got along with them well, and they all seemed to like her too.

So what was this feeling in his chest? A subtly growing fullness creeping up him like a patient vine. It had been there since Haven, he knew that much. But what was it? He wanted to fuck her, sure, but that wasn’t anything new. And it wasn’t a true summary of what was going on in his head. _Or_ his chest. This went past attraction or desire, he was practically _pining_ for her and it was freaking him out a little. Maybe they just needed to screw so he could clear his head again. She seemed to be open to the idea and it would be fun giving her a much needed break—she certainly didn’t seem to be picking up on the signals from the other men who would be more than happy to do the job.

Then he actually started imagining what he’d do to her, how her voice would crack when she moaned and the way her nails would feel dragging down his skin. How it’d feel to wrap that thick, long hair around his hand and _pull_. Then it became a real possibility, and he decided it was necessary to be one-hundred percent certain he was reading her right before making a move.

So he waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took a lot longer than I thought. So it ended up being a lot longer than I thought too. Enjoy, and I promise smut is coming!


	5. Chapter 5

Skyhold was a blessing in so many forms. Even with the condition they found the fortress in—the decades of abandonment filling the halls with flora and dust and knocked over furniture—it didn’t take them very long to clean up. The repairs were done incredibly quickly thanks to the outstanding quality of the original build. Nothing compared, though, to the vast expanse of the place. There were countless rooms designed for anything a large organization could need. With innumerable sleeping quarters, a full kitchen, a grand hall, even a blooming garden, it shouldn’t have been a shock when a bath house had been found in the lower chambers.

When the Inquisitor and her companions had first ventured into the fortress, there were still remnants of decorations on the walls. All the colours and symbols on the banners or art had long since faded from the sunlight or perhaps just simply too many millennia. Whoever had once lay claim to this place, whoever built it up for their cause, their final markers had all but disappeared. The same was true for the bath house. It was the lone room at the end of a hallway lined with columns and golden bowls holding flames. The doors were tall, a deep brown wood with cut-outs in the middle filled with crystal. Vines of gold were woven into the glass which had an almost rippled effect on them, distorting the view inside.

And it certainly was a view.

The whole room was carved out of whatever stone the mountain was made of. It was a deep grey that bordered on black but some sections were laced with a shimmering silver substance. Large sections of the stone walls had been flattened in order to serve as a canvas for mosaics that had faded beyond recognition. Now, the small squares just added another thing that threw the light around. In even intervals on the wall intricate candelabras boasted large flames which helped give light in what would otherwise be absolute darkness. There were three large chandeliers crafted from brass that hung from the ceiling and helped to light the expanse of the room where the wall lights couldn’t reach.

In the middle of the room there were a total of twenty small pools. Each was what looked like a natural divot in the stone that had been smoothed from the water over the years. There were large holes near the top ledge of every pool which water came rushing through, no doubt led through pipes which syphoned off of the main waterfall. Small metal grates were placed in the bottom of every pool which the water drained through. Subsequently, the constant movement of water meant they never really had to be cleaned and there was a constant ambiance of rushing water.

The fortress was so high up in the Frostbacks that the whole place should have constantly felt freezing without the aid of fires. However, both the stone of the pools and the water itself were always warm to the touch. Amara suspected it was some ancient spell that was still echoing from its initial moment of being cast. The water itself was also dark enough to provide some privacy for those walking by. Despite the intended use of the room, the members of the Inquisition did not make a habit of using this room in the large groups it was made for. More often than not small groups of friends were the most ever in the room at once.

Since they’d arrived, the Inquisitor had visited this place most frequently of all. It was a quiet space if she timed it right, and one that warranted time to herself that no one tried to intrude on. She carefully placed each footfall on a remaining floor tile; she memorized the ones that weren’t loose weeks ago. Laying her towel and clean clothes on one of the stone benches Amara looked towards the door before peeling off her clothes. Kicking them under the bench she carried her supplies over to one of the baths.

Dipping a foot in out of habit, she let out a content sigh as she slowly got into the water. She sat for a moment to enjoy it, setting down her supplies, but dipped her head under to get her hair wet. Taking one of the bottles she poured out the lavender coloured cream and began to work it in. Her nails scraped at her scalp, twisted into her locks, pulled and piled and pushed to get every strand. It was strange the way that water and a couple of products could always make her feel so much better. The luxury of cleanliness was something she clearly had taken for granted back home. Then again, she didn’t carry the burdens then that she did now.

Everyone, everywhere, needed a break sometimes. Needed a void to swallow up the emotions or thoughts that weren’t acceptable to let out any other time. In Skyhold, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for such a thing—at least not for the Inquisitor. A little ironic, considering you didn’t get much more isolated than a literal mountain peak. Still, there were rare moments like these when she existed for no one except herself. In these quiet moments she could try to pretend there was no Corypheus, no demon army, no assassination plot, no Inquisition. That she was back home in Ostwick with far simpler things to complain about.

The operative word here being try.

Amara’s mind didn’t always cooperate when she wanted it to. Nor when she needed it to. There were two weeks’ worth of built up emotion that had to remain under wraps. There was always someone in her tent, a battle needing fighting, or a dozen decisions for her to make. Finally after returning to Skyhold from Crestwood she had a chance to let it all out. All her exhaustion from the mess in the small village, all her fears for what would come in the Western Approach, and the multiplying ghosts that seemed to haunt the corners of her mind with every place they visited. The dead piled up and trailed behind her as if she could have done anything to help them.

The water of the bathing pool lapped around her, a constant field of ripples decorating the surface. It was the perfect warm, like a fireplace on a cold night. The sweet smell of crystal grace floated up from the dark liquid. Whether it was due to the natural stone that held the water or from whatever enchantments lingered from the previous inhabitants of the castle, she was glad for it. The sensations were so pleasant she could imagine dozing off—but the prospect of being exposed even in her own fortress turned her off from the idea entirely.

Instead, Amara took in a deep breath and slowly slipped down into the water until she was entirely submerged. Warmth stretched over her shoulders, neck, cheeks, finally to her forehead. She felt her hair go weightless and flow around her but when she opened her eyes she could only see darkness; save for the faint glow of her hand. The borderline sensory deprivation gave her a far greater comfort than she wished to admit. But her breath was finite and she wanted to make the most of her time alone.

With one great burst, Amara let out the strongest scream she could. It forced the water away from her face only to bring more of it back. A simple action but it did its job. Like removing a shard of darkness from within or throwing up a sort of heaviness. There was a moment when her lungs were completely void of air, when she was half suspended in the borderline nothingness and found freedom in the detachment. But the moment was stolen by the desperate ache her body had for air, so she surfaced. With a gasping breath she filled her lungs and heaved for a few moments. She opened her eyes to the sight of a familiar face, however unusual the circumstance.

“I heard your hurt from far away.” Cole said from beneath the brim of his big hat. Slowly he lifted his head until she could see his eyes. “It was…very loud.”

“Sorry, Cole.” Amara said sincerely, sinking down to her neck. “I thought this place would be far from everyone…I forgot about your special gift.”

He smiled at that—the spirit-boy-demon-hybrid didn’t receive the warmest welcome amongst the people in Skyhold. Most regarded him with more apprehension than anything. But Amara didn’t call him a freak or dangerous. He really liked when she referred to his powers as a gift, because gifts make people _happy_.

“The knot is less, but it still coils. Solid, serrated, swelling.” Cole began, sitting down cross-legged at the other end of the pool. If it were anyone else, she would be bothered about her nakedness. But despite having a body she didn’t think he really grasped the sexualized nature of a naked form. His eyes never left hers. “It is fear and falling and failure, franticly fretting over all directions of time. It feels… _very_ heavy. I could help.”

“I appreciate the thought, Cole, but some hurts you have to hold onto. Remembering makes you feel better in the future.” The Inquisitor explained. Cole didn’t seem to understand the concept very well, but didn’t push her on the subject.

All he wanted to do was help. He could fight with her, he could talk with her, but he could not force her pain to disappear if she didn’t want it. That was a promise they had made. A promise with a _friend_ who was kind to him. Even though she knew what he was. So he would offer, even if she said no. One day she might say yes.

“There is another ache, deeper down.” He said after a moment. Amara looked up at him, waiting for the rest of his speech. “Your ache reaches out for him, you want him closer and closer and closer. You want to speak but never do, never tell him you—”

“Cole, please.” The Inquisitor cut him off quickly as her cheeks reddened. He looked at her with confusion but did as she asked. “That’s from a place meant only for me. You mustn’t talk to anyone about that, okay?”

“Oh…Okay.” Cole wanted to listen to her, but he also wanted to tell her that the qunari had the same response. That their aches tangled around one another, and if they gave in and tugged just a little it would unknot. But the both of them were leaving it tied tight, so he tried to listen for other hurts that he could actually fix. “I am leaving now. Goodbye.”

With that he was gone, but not without leaving a small smile on her face. It was something she’d asked him to start doing—actually announce himself. He was much better at doing it on his way out than taking the time to walk into a room. Still, he was trying. The Inquisitor returned her attention to her bath and sat up to look at the pool.

Amara used to practice holding her breath when she was younger. There wasn’t really any reason for it, it just became a habit whenever she was bathing. Consequently, she always tried to improve upon prior records. Fifteen seconds became thirty became one minute became 95 seconds. A completely useless skill, but as she sank back under the water the urge resurfaced. She cried—if such a thing was properly possible under water—but whether tears came out was impossible to tell. The suspension in a void that wasn’t filled with demons or danger was too pleasant a space. Too forgiving a plane for her to abandon it so easily. Crying was just another form of screaming. Eventually she would have to actually clean up, as this room was meant for, but that thought was pushed to the back of her mind.

She was suddenly faced with the deep and slightly childish sentiment of _I don’t want to_! Didn’t want to go to the Western Approach, didn’t want to face a demon army and a bunch of brainwashed Grey Wardens, didn’t want to close another damn rift with the thing on her hand. But there was a literal world out there as a reason why she had to do it anyways. If not her—then no one. The same reasoning that she heard in a hundred different variations from a thousand different people. Whether or not she truly was chosen by the Maker, by Andraste, the fact remained that some form of magic had picked her hand and since then many people had chosen her. It exhausted her down past her bones to her soul. She felt so much older than she was: as if after this was all done she would die simply from all that she’d done.

Those thoughts were awful and macabre and she tried to keep them away. There was still work to be done. With a few final moments she eased back above the water, pushing her hair back. The gentle sobs still shook her though, and she covered her eyes with her hands. Shaky breath in, deep breath out, she leaned back against the smooth stone.

“Uh…Boss?” It was a quiet voice in the great expanse of the room, but unexpected enough to frighten her. The Inquisitor’s eyes shot open and she instinctively reached for a weapon that was not on her back. Before she could panic any further she saw the great big form of the qunari and the unmistakable silhouette of horns and she settled.

“ _Maker’s breath_ —where the hell did you come from?” She worked quickly to wipe her eyes and try to still her beating heart. Casting a look around the rest of the room to make sure no one else had conveniently popped up, she looked back at the qunari.

“Pretty much what I was gonna ask you.” He had a pile of fabric on the pool’s edge behind him along with a brown jar.  “ _I_ used the door, whereas you just…came up through the water. Now _that_ would be a useful trick in battle.”

It made her laugh quietly and lean back against the stone. “I’m sorry I just thought I was alone.” She explained.

“Yeah you and me both.” Iron Bull promised, pausing for a moment before offering her a courtesy. “I’ll come back later.”

“No, stay.” Amara said a little quicker than she’d like. “If it’s any comfort, you aren’t the first person to show up during my bath.”

“Is this a thing now?” He asked with amusement, trying not to stare when she started lathering up.

“No, it was just Cole. Showed up because he heard me—Well. You know how he is.” The Inquisitor avoided his eye, knowing that he’d probably already seen her crying and didn’t need her to spell it out. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up again.

“You doing alright?” He lowered his voice, like there were other people in the room and he wanted to offer her some form of privacy. It was a tone of tenderness, of care, and of sincerity.

“Of course, I’m good.” It was the default response she gave every time someone asked her. Because no one needed to worry about her on top of everything else. For the most part people believed her, but if her few friends in this place picked up on anything they never pried. She should have known, though, that Bull couldn’t be lied to. Not when he knew her as well as he did.

“Is it your hand again?” He stopped brushing the soap along his arms to look at her properly. She sank a little deeper in the water and used her unmarked hand to wash her shoulder.

“Not this time.” Amara promised, looking up at him once before looking away. “I’ve just…I’ve got a lot on my mind. That’s all.”

“A whole lot on your shoulders, too.” Iron Bull pointed out casually. She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just kept washing up. Propping a foot up on the edge of the stone, she scrubbed at the dirt and sweat and miniscule amounts of dried blood from a scrape. The qunari watched her, eyes trailing the toned muscles of her legs and arms, the length of her neck and angle of her jaw, the fullness of her chest that disappeared just below the water’s surface. How she hadn’t already been courted or married off before the Inquisition was beyond him, but he had lost track of all the people here who pined for her in one way or another. Whether it was for her body, or her power, or her personality, she was a person turned into a thing to be coveted. Yearned for. Some of her own companions would strive just to talk to her for a while, and here he was watching her bathe.

This had become a habit of hers, whether or not she noticed it. Amara continually granted him access to all of these private moments that few others would ever come close to. Any time they were out travelling across Thedas, it had become second nature that they shared a tent. They so frequently lay side by side, arms or legs occasionally finding one another in the night. Even in Skyhold, he had privileges with her that others did not. His mind went back to that night that she’d gotten pretty drunk with his Chargers and got him to carry around a dragon skull for her. When he escorted her up to her quarters, she’d easily sunk down onto her bed. That showed a deep trust that he didn’t want to take for granted: him being in her room, at night, with her being drunk and him knowing her history with men who got a little too handsy.

She’d tried and failed to kick down the blankets—just ended up getting tangled in them and cursing up a storm. The qunari had to go over and help free her and, essentially, tuck her in. She thanked him and he patted her shoulder, but she gently grabbed his hand before he could leave. In a very sleepy voice, and with all her effort, she looked up at him and said “ _I’m going to miss you._ ”

He raised an eyebrow at her, promising, “You’ll see me tomorrow, Boss.”

“ _No…_ ” she shook her head and blinked her heavy lids. “ _When this is all over. When you leave. I’ll miss you, The Iron Bull_.”

After that she’d released his hand and rolled over, slipping into sleep very quickly. He stood at her bedside for a moment realizing he hadn’t properly thought about what would happen when this was all over. Assuming they actually killed this Corypheus asshole and didn’t die in the process. Maybe if the Inquisition stuck around he could keep the Chargers on the payroll. Otherwise…Yeah. It’d be goodbye.

There was an ache in his chest at the realization, the kind of feeling that stuck around in the back of his mind more than he’d like. He didn’t want to go back to that place, at least not now, so he thought of something to talk about.

“By the way, meant to thank you for that stunt out in the Crow Fens.” The qunari said, puncturing the quiet. Just like that, she smiled. Melted into a familiar space inhabited just by the two of them. Lifting her hair up, she scrubbed at the back of her neck.

“You mean with that Bruiser?” Amara inquired, facing him properly now that they had lapsed into battle-speak. “Well I saw that axe headed for you and thought, you’d be a _very_ big corpse to bring back to camp.”

They’d been ambushed by a straggling group of bandits, a huge warrior among them brandishing a heavy axe. Solas and Varric had been busy with some swordsmen and Bull was too preoccupied with the trio of shield-wielders coming at him to notice the Bruiser on his flank. All Amara did was use a little alchemy to fade from sight and head the warrior off. Once she’d climbed onto a well-placed boulder, it was easy to map the route for a quick kill. The man reeled his arm back for a devastating swing just as the qunari turned, but before the fatal blow could fall Amara leapt off the boulder and slipped both daggers in between his chest plate and helmet. Deeply dug into the man’s neck, she used the momentum to sever his spine completely. She had appeared out of thin air one moment and was covered with blood the next, and he’d never had a chance to tell her how _amazing_ it was.

“That, and you’d have no one else to kick down walls for you.” He reasoned, watching the roll of her eyes. The soap slipped out of her hands into the water so she reached down deep to retrieve it.

“I’m _quite_ sure Cassandra is more than up to the task, Bull.” Rinsing off the last of the suds she finally felt fully and properly clean again. It was an increasingly glorious luxury with all the travelling demanded of her and her company in the months since the Inquisition formed.

Twirling her finger around, she silently signalled her qunari companion that she was about to get out. He turned his back to her and she couldn’t help but stare as she got out of the pool. There were countless scars that decorated his body but if anything it only pulled her towards him more. She found herself blushing a little and was thankful that he wasn’t facing her to witness it. Crossing over to the corner where her dirty clothes were piled she quickly dried off, put on her smallclothes and slipped on the long silk robe meant for such occasions. The sleeves drooped down and the back of it trailed behind her in a statement so royal that only Vivienne could have decided on such a thing. It was a deep purple with gold accents all over, and it was comfortable enough to live in.

“Ah, shit.” The sound of glass clinking on stone and rolling off caught her attention. Amara turned to see the brown jar Iron Bull had brought with him rolling out of his reach. He kept his head forward, because he had agreed to, but asked if she was good now.

“I’ve got it.” She walked over to pick up the jar and looked at the label. It was entirely in qunlat but the image in the middle told her enough: horn balm. “How do you put this stuff on without a mirror?”

“Sloppily, usually.” He admitted as he turned to look at her. He paused for a moment at the sight of her, the dim light of the scattered candelabras basked her in a glow that the fabric on her robe reflected. She shook her head and took a step towards the pool.

“I could help if you want.” Amara shrugged, toying with the jar in her hands. There was a sliver of vulnerability that made it through her filtering process and he picked up on it immediately. And of course, he accepted, because to him this just counted as one more moment of behind-the-curtain access that belonged to him.

Walking up to the edge of the pool she sat down and crossed her legs behind him. As she pried open the jar, Iron Bull carefully took off his eyepatch and set it on the stone beside her so she could get the spots under the straps. The substance inside was a dark grey translucent colour, with a jelly-like consistency and a strong scent of rashvine nettle. Before delving her hands in she took the string from her wrist and tied up her damp hair so it was out of the way.

“Will it sting you at all?” She inquired, fingers already scooping a small amount out. He shook his head and promised that it was pretty much the opposite. With her clean hand she tilted his head forward and started with the spots at the back of his head that would usually be harder for him to get. Gently spreading some of it around the skin where his horns grew, she slowly massaged it in deeper until the grey colour completely dispersed and blended. His eye closed at the sensation, reminded of the way his Tamassran used to do this for him when he was a kid.

If Amara had been a qunari, she would have made a damn good Tamassran. Strong, capable, a natural leader. People easily looked up to her—probably even before she got thrown into the holiness deal. But she was also smart, soft, and compassionate when circumstances allowed for it. He wondered what his old Tamassran would think of him now, all Tal-Vashoth running with a Bas army fighting against something their kind’s lack of magical control brought about. But Amara tilted his head back and her tender hands worked at the more sensitive skin on the front of his head and all thoughts left him. She was using both hands, moving repetitively in small circles that was more of a massage than the routine this usually was for him. His head slowly dropped down until it was resting in her lap.

“Is that good?”

He doubted she meant it to sound alluring, but it did. The inflection of her voice, however subconscious, mixed with the smell of her and their skin touching; he wasn’t surprised when he got hard. He started thinking again about his whole plan to find out if he was reading her signals right. After this, he was willing to take the risk. If she refused him it would be no big deal. But if there was even a chance, he wanted to know what her hands felt like on the rest of him, what her breath would sound like when it hitched, the sounds he could pull out of her, the feel of her nails dragging down his skin as he made her unravel. He wanted his name on her lips like one of her Andrastian hymns.

“Better than good.” The smallest moan bubbled in his throat and Amara felt her cheeks flush again. The sound went right down to her core and she worked to keep a blank exterior. It almost felt wrong that so often when she looked at him she found herself wanting to know what it would be like to have his huge form dominating her. She shouldn’t be thinking about a friend, a _good_ friend like that. She made sure to get the underside as well, trying to treat this like just a job but having a difficult time.

“Does it go on your horns as well?” Amara asked. Her fingers were brushing just above his temples in a wa that felt so good he almost forgot he needed to answer her.

“Uh, yeah. Usually.” He said quickly. She scooped more of the balm out of the jar and rubbed it between her hands before carefully pressing her palms to either side of his horn. Closing her fingers around them as best she could, the Inquisitor dragged her hands along the length of one horn all the way to the tip. She repeated this a few times to make sure the balm was properly worked in before moving to the other one. He was focused on the way her slicked up hands sounded moving back and forth, which did nothing to quell the swelling between his legs, but couldn’t help to also notice that she had no negative reaction to his horns. No fear, no disgust, no morbid curiosity, and most of all no damn _fetish_. He’d dealt with that more times than he’d liked but that wasn’t what she was here for. There had been a couple of other qunari—well, tal-vashoth more likely—who had been in and out of Skyhold since they got here. She’d never given them so much as a second glance.

“Ouch.” She hissed quietly, pulling her hands away. He turned slightly to ask her what happened. “Nothing, I just nicked myself on a sharp part.”

“Shit, sorry.” He said regretfully, moving away so he could turn around without hitting her with one of his horns. She was inspecting the palm of her right hand, where a thin line of red now bloomed. “I’m usually pretty good with keeping them smooth. The scare factor goes down a bit when you’ve got stuff stuck to them.”

“Honestly Bull, consider it payback for all the times you’ve woken up with my hair in your face.” She joked, dipping her hand into the water beside him to wash the little bit of blood off. It did happen quite a lot; her hair was just so thick and long that most mornings some chunk of it was obstructing his face. There were a lot worse ways to wake up, though.

“Thanks, Boss.” He said as she closed the jar and left it with his belongings.

“Anytime.” She smiled, handing him his eyepatch. She hadn’t actually ever seen him without it on, and wondered if it had been a moment of trust that allowed him to remove it in front of her. Amara gathered her own belongings and was on her way out when Bull called to her. He just couldn’t get the image of her crying earlier out of his mind. She turned to face him from across the room and she looked like something out of an old painting.

“Remember that if anyone made you upset…One word from you and I’ll kick their fuckin’ ass.”

A genuine smile took over her features and she felt nothing but adoration for him. But things had gotten too intimate in there, too close. So the smile faded to a smirk and she gave him a challenging look.

“Not if I get to them first.”

*~*~*~*

Amara sat on a cushion on the floor, her back to the fireplace, in an attempt to have her hair dry a little quicker. She had changed into actual clothes now that her skin had dried mostly; black pants with a red sweater and a silver scarf for the inevitable chill brought along the wind now and then. All around her were groups of papers that she had to attend to. Bit by bit she was sorting them into things she could attend to quickly, things she’d get to later, and things she would leave until the last possible moment to complete due to their ridiculousness (such as personal request from the Mayor of a small town that she present herself immediately to be burned at the stake like Andraste and only then would he pledge his twelve soldiers to her cause). There were many letters and other correspondence that Josephine handled entirely, when the responses were obvious ones. However there were some instances where there was no default answer, and thus they ended up in a pile handed to her upon her arrival and subsequently placed a little too close to the fire.

In the midst of all her paperwork (which quite honestly she got very easily distracted from) she heard the sound of distant barking. Normally it wouldn’t catch her ear so easily—there were dogs belonging to someone that walked the grounds often enough—but there was also the sound of someone yelling this time. At first she just looked at the window the sound was closest to, as if it would somehow make her hear better, but when the yelling came again she decided to get up and go look.

Stepping out onto the balcony facing the main gates Amara watched as a small group of onlookers gathered around the entrance. Sera, Cullen, Dorian, and Blackwall were among them, and as she squinted for a better look she could see a small brown figure running full speed down the stone walkway that led up to the gate. It would pause and turn to look at the Inquisition soldier that was chasing after it, go run around him a few times, and then continue towards the castle. The closer the dog got, the more the on-lookers stepped back. Amara would have used any excuse to take a break from the paperwork, and a disturbance in the courtyard definitely counted as one…even if it was just a dog.

Running her fingers through her hair a couple of times to tame it, the Inquisitor headed down the many stairs from her quarters to the main hall. She greeted people as she passed, but stopped by Varric’s side at the main doors. By now the dog had made it into the castle grounds and the poor soldier was bending over to catch his breath.

“That is one wound-up hound.” Varric said from her side, arms crossed over his chest as they watched it run. It was bounding up the stairs towards the tavern only to loop around a few people and run all the way back down. When one of the merchants nearly got knocked over by the animal the dwarf looked up at her. “Maybe you should get a leash on that thing before it mows down your centre of commerce.”

“So I’m a dog-herder now too, am I?” She asked, hesitantly watching as Blackwall tried to help get a hold of the dog (and miss). “Well, as long as it’s not possessed by a demon like those wolves in the Hinterlands, I think I should be fine.”

The Inquisitor headed down the stairs and Varric followed after her, but not without muttering “ _Clearly you’ve never had a Mabari before_.”

More people had gathered around to watch a few of the soldiers and the Grey Warden himself attempt to stop this dog from blazing around everywhere. Dorian even tried casting a spell to immobilize the creature but he just missed him. He was barking up a storm but no one was able to catch him, and now that Amara had appeared those who weren’t watching initially were paying attention now. Descending the stairs to the main courtyard, the crowds parted for her and watched avidly.

“Forgive me, your worship.” The winded soldier said from the gates. “He was bolting around the lower camps and we tried to get him under control but—well, it’s a bit harder than it looks.”

The dog was on its way back from the circuit it was running when Amara put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loudly. For probably the first time the dog stood completely still. Its fur was a deep brown colour and was decorated with black stripes of war paint. The dog had seen battle.

“Come here, boy.” She said sweetly now that she had its attention. Even for a Mabari, it was a _massive_ dog. It easily came up to her waist and boasted a mouth full of sharp teeth. Which is why it was a cause for concern when the dog barked once and came barreling right towards her. Without a second thought the hound leapt at her and tackled her to the ground. She fell with a solid _thud_ and cursed as her companions immediately ran forward. They clearly assumed it was an attack, but as the dog began to lick at her face furiously she held out a hand to keep everyone else at bay. “Enough, enough! Sit!”

The dog obeyed but looked at her with that sweet smile and she couldn’t help but laugh. Wiping at her face she knelt before him and carefully reached out to try petting him. He seemed very warm to the gesture and nuzzled against her hand in encouragement.

“Where did you come from, boy?” Amara asked as everyone began to relax. The dog was finally calm (relative to what she’d walked in to) and people began to disperse back to what they were doing. “What’s your name?”

“He doesn’t have a name. Not anymore.” Cole appeared behind the dog, startling her companions but no one else. _If I make them forget me too, they might hit me in battle by accident_. That’s what his reasoning was. “His guardian died in the camps last night.”

“His guardian?” Dorian inquired, putting away his staff. Cole nodded once, hiding behind his hat as he watched the hound.

“He doesn’t like the word master.” The boy explained simply. It made Amara laugh again and she stroked behind the dog’s ear. His stub of a tail was wiggling fervently which made his whole butt wiggle too.

“Good, neither do I.” Amara watched as the dog flopped onto its side and rolled over for her to pet his belly. “You are a big one though. What should we call you?”

“Name him after some lord and train him to shit on command!” Sera said immediately, a mischievous grin spreading on her face. It earned an eye roll from Dorian and Cullen, but Varric at least tried to offer an alternative.

“How about we try to avoid a diplomatic incident and opt for something a _little_ less likely to start a war? Like… Sandal.” He smiled to himself at the name, but its significance was lost on the Inquisitor.

“You could just keep it simple and name the thing Dog.” Blackwall offered. His hands were on his hips and he was staring at the animal as if wondering how it could be the same dog from a few minutes ago.

“After running up that steep incline to get our attention I think he at least deserves a proper name.” Cullen replied, walking up to the dog and rubbing his belly a few times. 

“I don’t care what it’s called, so long as you keep it off me. Mabari hair is _notoriously_ difficult to get off of silk.” Dorian eyed the animal carefully but didn’t go so far as to step back. Amara couldn’t blame him—he was right. Apparently they shed quite a bit and left a mess most places they went. “And if I wanted to wear something furry, I’d ask Solas which hovel he scrounges from.”

Varric and Blackwall laughed quietly but Sera cackled at the joke. She loved any attempt to mock the elven mage and often tried to join in. Amara sighed heavily, sometimes feeling more like a mother to her companions than a leader when it came to keeping them from each other’s throats.

“No, he’s getting a proper name. Because he’ll be big and scary to our enemies, won’t you boy? Won’t you? Yes you will!” The Inquisitor scratched under his chin and he sat up straight, acknowledging what she assumed had come out as a command. He was ready to rip into anyone, and with a flashback to the Hinterlands and those damn Hafter’s Woods, she knew exactly what to call him. “What about…Bear?”

“As good a name as any, I’d say.” Cullen nodded, despite not knowing the horror she and her companions dealt with. The only thing worse than being attacked by a bear was being attacked by _two_ bears after just closing a difficult rift.

“Bear?” Varric thought about it for a minute, likely figuring out how well that would work on a page. “Well it certainly paints a picture.”

“He likes that name.” Cole said softly from Amara’s side. “He likes you very much and he would like to stay.”

Giving the dog a few more pets, the Inquisitor asked him to be good and not go running around anymore. He barked once, a loud but endearing sound, which she took as agreement.

“Hey, boss. Got a minute?” Amara looked up from the hound to see the Iron Bull approach her from the back stairs. She nodded but paid more attention when he took a step closer. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk in private.”

“Of course.” She got to her feet but paused to make sure Bear stayed sitting. “If you want you can wait in my quarters, I’ll be there shortly.”

He disappeared up the stairs with that and Amara tried to figure out what he might need to talk to her about alone. Perhaps he actually wanted to talk about how he was dealing with the aftermath of the Storm Coast. Or maybe there was a sensitive mission he wanted to bring up. Regardless, she had to finish handling the Bear situation first. Heading over to the stables with the hound at her side the Inquisitor politely asked if Horsemaster Dennet would be willing to care for the dog when she was unable to. He pulled her around for a moment, going on about all his duties, but eventually agreed stating that the dog was in great shape and would make a good fighter.

Dennet kept Bear to get him washed up and do a more in-depth exam of his health. She said farewell to them both but made sure to pull up some water from the well nearby to wipe the slobber off her face. Amara then headed back to the castle and stopped in with Josephine to request a few things. It was only after she asked for a proper dog bed, dog house, and plethora of things to gift Bear with that she realized all that paperwork sat unfinished in her quarters. The diplomat was polite enough not to remind her, but something told the Inquisitor that she very much wanted to. Amara left before she changed her mind and made her way up the stairs to her room. Bear was going to be one spoiled Mabari if she had her way. Her mother had always been terribly allergic to most animals which meant she’d never had the opportunity, but now nothing could stop her.

Reaching the door to her quarters, she paused outside to fix her hair now that it was finally dry. Going inside at last she climbed the last set of stairs and emerged in the large open space. She found the qunari sitting on the edge of her bed and offered a smile.

“What did you need to talk about?” She turned to close the doors to the side balcony in order to block the cold wind blowing in.

“So listen, I’ve caught the hints. I get what you’re saying. You want to _ride the Bull_.” He got up from the bed and took a few steps towards her. For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, wasn’t sure that this was actually happening. “Can’t say I blame you, but I’m not sure you know what you’re asking. Not sure if you’re ready for it.”

“Oh I’m ready for it.” She replied a little more enthusiastically than she’d like. It was true, though. She’d wanted this for _so_ long and the way she looked at him in that moment finally confirmed it for him.

“See, you say that, but you really don’t know what it means.” He came even closer now and the way he spoke sparked a fire in her core. If he hadn’t been so close to her she’d have confused his words for him trying to convince her to say no. As though he didn’t want it. But she figured this was just his way of having her complete and total consent: leave her every exit route possible.

“So why don’t you show me?” Amara challenged with a raised eyebrow. He certainly didn’t back down, pushing her up against the wall and pinning both hands above her head so quickly it forced the breath out of her. Whatever lust he already felt was multiplied by the way she looked at him: no fear in her eyes but excitement. Exhilaration, anticipation, and a burning desire.

“Last chance.” He warned in a low voice. Her hands curled around his and she leaned forward.

“A little slower, and a _lot_ harder.” He couldn’t help but smirk. It was a direct order, and one that he was more than happy to obey.

The Iron Bull leaned down and finally brought his lips against hers. Amara felt her whole body shiver, a deep dawning relief taking over for how incredibly long it had taken them to get here. He released her hands and they fell around his neck, holding him closer as he easily picked her up. With her legs around his waist he kept her pressed against the wall and slipped his tongue past her lips.

It was just a kiss, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d so thoroughly enjoyed it. However badly he craved her before, though, was nothing compared to how it was now that he’d tasted her. A small moan escaped her and it shot straight through him. Not nearly as much as when she began to grind her hips against the growing length of him. He grinned against her mouth and got a good grip on her to carry her towards the bed.

Setting her down on the edge of the mattress, he stood up straight and watched as she groaned at the separation. He leaned over her and began to gently tug her scarf off. Amara caught on quick enough and rushed to open the buttons on her shirt. She had only gotten to the first two when his hand covered hers.

“Slowly.” He told her. She gave a nod and eased the next button open. His eyes were trained on her intently and he joined her by removing his belt. Their pace and this extended waiting game only helped to get her riled up even more than she already was. She had wanted him for so long, though, so she could stand a few more minutes. Getting to the last button she pulled apart the fabric and let it slip off her shoulders.

It shouldn’t have gotten to him the way it did. Just hours before he had seen this much of her when they were in the pools side by side. But the subtle shift in context made all the difference. Here, her skin was being offered for him to admire. To covet. When she started at the laces on her pants he got down on his knees in front of her to take off her boots. They clunked when he tossed them aside and took the liberty of sliding her pants down himself. He bit and kissed up the length of her legs and moved to kiss her lips before pulling away just an inch.

“Lay back.” The qunari commanded. She obliged and he lifted her further up on the bed. Crawling on top of her he got down on his forearms and kissed her deeply. Amara carefully dragged her fingertips down the back of his head and neck, fighting to kiss him back even harder. She truly couldn’t remember if she’d ever been kissed like this. Dipping one hand behind her back he expertly pulled apart the halves of her breastbind. As he tore away the fabric a deep thrill ran through her that they were actually, truly, going to do this. He looked down to take in the sight of her full chest and found it more perfect than he’d imagined. Iron Bull lowered his lips to her chest and showered them with kisses, nipping gently at her flesh and running his tongue in circles. It elicited more of a moan from her and he was desperate to hear the sound again, louder and louder, until the whole fortress heard. The Inquisitor stroked his shoulders but when his hand moved south to take off her smallclothes she softly pushed him away.

Even in his haze of lust he responded immediately, standing back and looking to her for a signal to follow. There was no hesitation or apprehension on her face, though, but a challenging smirk. Propped up on her elbows with her knees pressed together in defiance she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You first.” She tilted her head to the side and watched as he couldn’t help but grin. The power play was a nice way to start things off, but he thought that for her to truly get the most out of this she’d be better off in the passenger’s seat. Still he indulged her, kicking off his boots and easing down his pants. They caught for a moment on the length of him and he felt her eyes burning on him. He took his sweet time, letting the waistband pull his cock down before it finally bounced free.

She swallowed hard at the sight of him, legs tensing together in anticipation of what was to come. He allowed her a moment to enjoy the view, as he had, before leaning over her and putting his hands on her waist in a silent request. She raised her hips in response and he finally eased the fabric off of her. Climbing back onto the bed he moved them so they were laying properly. The qunari nuzzled at her neck and began to kiss it but settled on biting at her skin while one hand trailed down her side.

The Inquisitor slipped a hand between them and took his cock in her hand. She kept a firm grip as she began to pump the length of him, musing at the small groan that escaped him. It was a simple gesture but enough contact to make his hips twitch into her hand. He worked quickly to regain control, grabbing her hands and roughly pinning them above her head. Even if she wanted to she wouldn’t have been able to slip out of his grasp, but she yanked a few times for good measure. He kissed her once and used his free hand to push her legs apart. Every time he touched her was like a spark, leaving trails of heat and chill across her skin. She wanted it, she _needed_ it.

With a steady hand he dragged a finger along her slit, back and forth, watching the way her chest rose quicker to match her breaths. If this was how much she got worked up over just his touch, he couldn’t _wait_ to make her unravel. The Iron Bull got turned on by a lot of people, and Amara certainly was no exception, but something about her had gotten under his skin and he fucking _craved_ her. They hadn’t even fucked yet and he was already fantasizing about their next time, about talking to her about ropes and then tying her up in a hundred different ways. That was a whole other conversation though, and that was assuming she would want this again. Want _him_ again.

And what happened to his firm belief that having her once would get her off his mind? Whatever he felt towards her was hidden behind the desire to fuck, and he had been convinced that once that was done the feeling would disappear. Now, being with her in reality and not just his mind, he wasn’t so sure.

But all of that was for another time and not as pressing as the woman squirming beneath him. He let his thumb circle her clit and she let out a drawn out _mmmmm_. He took one of her nipples between his teeth and gently bit, sucking at the full flesh but pausing to catch her expression as he slowly lid a finger inside her warmth. Her eyes closed and her hips canted up towards him. He felt his cock twitch at the sight of her and gently curled his finger until he hit the dense wall of nerves.

“Do you like the way that feels?” He moved so they were face to face; he could see every subtle muscle movement, all the small shifting expressions. With a languid movement he alternated between moving his finger within her and pulling it out.

“ _Maker_ , yes.” She gasped, hands subconsciously pushing against the restraint. He kept a firm grip on her and continued to work her, thumb tracing over her nub with the perfect amount of pressure. There was no way he was moving fast enough, but the pace was meant to wind her up. To coil her core and tense her tightly until she was begging. All she needed to think about was how she was feeling. Everything else was his concern.

Iron Bull dipped his head to her neck and resumed with the kissing, biting, and licking. Alternating between increasing the pressure and increasing the speed, he effectively had her writhing beneath him in some attempt to get more friction. The longer he drew things out, the more strained her breath became, and he didn’t know what was hotter: having the leader of the Inquisition completely at his mercy or watching how enthusiastically her body was responding to him. Plenty of people were attracted to him, but it felt like some kind of bonus that she was so incredibly wet from his touch alone. An accomplishment, of sorts.

He increased the speed of his movements just enough to count and watched her body shift visibly. Now it went beyond just a pleasant sensation; now he might actually get her off and she was aware of that. Her hips were rolling against his hand now and with both of his pre-occupied he couldn’t stop her. But she was getting close, and he could stop entirely. Slowly pulling out from her she cursed generously. He let a small laugh slip but she was too wound up to notice.

“If you’re going to make me wait,” Amara said with a dangerously tempting voice. “Then at least give me something. _Please_ , let me taste you.”

“You got it, Boss.” He grinned, licking her wetness from his finger before letting her hands slip from his grip and rolling onto his back. She all but pounced on him, kissing him hungrily before biting his lip and moving down to his waist. With careful pressure she dragged her nails all the way down his chest to his thighs—hard enough to mark him but light enough so he wouldn’t bleed.

She kissed each hip bone and all around his cock, moving closer and closer without touching him. If this was payback she was doing a damn good job. It didn’t last, though, and soon enough she was carefully wrapping a hand around him. The fact that her fingers couldn’t reach all the way around didn’t deter her in the slightest: she started working him with a slow pace and looked up at him before leaning down. Amara dragged her tongue from the base of his cock all the way up in one measured movement, taking pleasure in the low sound of approval he gave. She did this twice more before circling her tongue around his tip. After that she dropped all pretense and took him deep into her mouth.

The Inquisitor knew when she first eyed him that if they’d ever actually gotten to this place he would be bigger than anyone else she’d been with, but she couldn’t properly imagine how much he would fill her until she experienced it first-hand. She went down as far as she could and on her way up her tongue moved back and forth against him. Amara took it as a good sign when the qunari slipped his hand through her hair and gently tugged. She wanted to make him to ache for her as she did for him, she wanted him to remember her like this even when it would be more appropriate not to.

Using her tongue and mouth more on the tip of his cock now, she kept her hand to the lowest part of him. Where Iron Bull went slow with her to drive her crazy, the Inquisitor was taking him hard and fast with the clear goal of making him come. The rate she was going, even with his self-control, she would succeed. It took everything in him not to buck up into her mouth. He moaned out a curse despite himself and eased her off of him before he came undone. Amara looked up at him, his hand gripping the back of her head, worried she’d done something wrong. As if it was even possible, with her.

“Here,” He sat up and she followed suit, following his eye to the large hook on the roof of her canopy bed. It held the different sheer curtains in place that could close off all sides of the bed. He rose her arms up and wrapped her hands into the fabric. Tight enough for her to hold onto, but no knots so she could get out on her own volition. “Now stay put.”

Amara nodded, heart racing with anticipation. He lay down on his back again but moved down enough that he was right below her. Lifting one of her legs to the other side of his head, he held onto her inner thighs and then leaned up. Iron Bull used his thumbs to spread her apart and then he dipped his tongue inside her. Out of reflex her legs tried to close up but he kept her perfectly still. Now he tasted her in full and he did so eagerly; much of it spreading across his mouth and beard. He moved his tongue along her folds until he reached her clit, and _that_ made her whole body jump.

“ _Maker take me_.” She moaned, swallowing hard and looking down at him. The qunari lapped his tongue around her nub in earnest before gently sucking at the flesh. With every move she let out a strained moan, relishing the way his tongue moved in erratic lines across her. She would fight a dozen dragons if it meant ending the day with _this_. The Inquisitor tried to remember back to the last time she’d actually had sex, what with all the craziness with Corypheus, but all thoughts were pushed from her mind when he once more slid a finger deep inside her. Iron Bull didn’t want her mind anywhere but here. He worked her thoroughly now, no longer trying to drive her wild: this time only trying to drive her home.

Barely able to contain herself, her hips rolled against her will and she bit down on her arm. Without warning, the qunari stopped altogether and she loudly cursed halt of the sensation. He smirked up at her, drinking in the sight of her so close to the edge. But he wasn’t nearly as cruel this time, and instead eased two fingers into her, knuckle by knuckle, until she was accustomed to the feeling. When she began to move against his hand he returned his mouth to her clit and took a steady pace.

Amara’s chest was heaving, whole body overwhelmed with the stimulation. Her hands were pulling against the canopy fabric so tightly she wondered if it would leave marks. A soft hymn of _yes, yes, yes_ tumbled from her lips followed by a desperate _please, don’t stop_. He did her that kindness, watching intently as she wound up tighter, tighter, tighter, and was finally pushed over the edge. The Inquisitor’s face contorted as her climax rocked through her whole body, a drawn out moan scraping from her throat. He felt her arousal drench down his fingers and to his wrist but the climax didn’t stop him from pushing her to the absolute limit. Only when she squirmed away from the overstimulation did he let her rest.

The Iron Bull wiped his mouth and moved so he was sitting up in front of her. He unwrapped the fabric from her hands and caught her when she slumped forward against him. From the time hung up, he knew her arms would be a little numb and so he kept them at her side to get the circulation fixed. Brushing the hair back from her face, she sighed heavily and looked up at him. Leaning forward to close the small distance she pressed her lips against his. For her spell of exhaustion she was still fiery with her touch.

He welcomed the gesture and took his time stroking his hands over every inch of her skin. Now and then he would pause to grab a handful of her and squeeze, just to keep her on her toes. Once she’d had some time to recover she crawled forward in his lap and took his hand from where it was on her chest and brought it up to her neck. He easily let his fingers wrap around her throat but barely applied any pressure. Still, it was enough to drive her crazy all over again.

“ _Andraste’s ass_ , Bull, will you please fuck me already?” She looked at him with heavy eyes and licked her lips once. “ _Please_ , I _need_ it.”

“You need it, huh?” He had an amused grin on his face. Using his free hand he brought her closer and dragged the tip of his cock against her slit. She let out a small gasp which melted into a shiver. “How badly do you _really_ need it?”

“You’ve driven me crazy for months.” Amara said desperately, gripping his shoulders tightly. Closing her eyes, she moved her hips to keep the sensation. When she spoke it was just above a whisper, like a buried confession that was being pried out of her. “I want you deep inside me, I want you to come until you can’t see straight. I just want _you_.”

He couldn’t deny her in his wildest dreams, and even less so when she was begging for him to take her. Getting up onto his knees so he could have better leverage, the qunari lifted Amara with one arm and lined himself up with the other. Her hands kept a sturdy grip on him but her mind went fuzzy when he finally pushed into her. With caution and immense control he lowered her down onto his cock inch by inch, looking carefully for any indication he was hurting her. She didn’t even bother trying to stop the sound that came from her, a long moan of absolute bliss. Her head fell against his chest at the overwhelming sensation of fullness but he wanted to see her, wanted to watch her.

With one arm he could easily hold her up and keep her body pressed against his. This gave him plenty of room to ease out of her almost completely and then push back in. He was almost lost in the way her cunt held him tightly and quivered around him, head cloudy simply with _her_. When he’d gotten her used to the movement of him, he wrapped her long black locks around his hand and _pulled_. It forced her head back and exposed her neck, an opportunity he took full advantage of. While he slowly pumped into her he bit down hard against her throat. It pushed a whimper out of her but he knew it would blossom and bruise and bear as a reminder of this night even if it never happened again. It was proof that he wasn’t just imagining this, that in this space she was entirely his if only for a while.

The more he was inside her, the more he began to release moans of his own. It was the hottest thing Amara had ever experienced, and she worked hard despite her limited mobility to keep it coming. She clenched her inner muscles around the length of him and he tensed forward, releasing her hair so he could look at her again. She didn’t try to hide the sly smile and it spurred him on to trip her up too. It certainly worked when he picked up the pace. Her nails dug deeply into the flesh of his shoulders and even though he was holding her in place she still bounced from the momentum.

“Oh—Bull— _Fuck_.” Amara cried out. Seeing her, hearing her, _feeling_ her like this—it really made the qunari hope for a round two. To really indulge her and push her past her limits. He wanted to take her and taste her for hours on end, days blending together, until neither of them could tell up from down.

His breath rolled out against her neck and sent shivers through her body. He could tell she didn’t need much longer and wanted to help her get there.

“Don’t hold anything in.” He said in a low voice by her ear. The way she quivered around him said that he was into hearing him talk. “The window to the courtyard is wide open. Let them hear you.”

“Andraste preserve me, don’t stop.” The Inquisitor pressed her head to the crook of his neck and let out a muffled moan. Iron Bull tugged on her hair again so he could hear her perfectly—it also helped that he could watch her tits bounce as he fucked her. Those _fantastic_ tits.

“ _Louder_.” He growled, and she couldn’t stop herself from obeying. He thrust into her hard and she cried out. The sound echoed of the walls and she immediately worried that someone _would_ hear her. “Make everyone think about what I’m doing to you, let them imagine you like this. Think about how they’d blush. Think about how they’d come in to check on you and we _just wouldn’t stop_.”

That brought a full blush to her cheeks and yet turned her on at the same time. Some part of her, deep down, thought it would be exciting to get walked in on like this. For someone to see how expertly she was being devoured, to see how deeply she had been taken. Iron Bull picked up on this and smirked at her.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Having someone watch while I take you? Hm?” He was breathing harder now, closing in on his own climax, but he was determined to get her there first. After adjusting his grip he renewed his pace with fervor; thrusting into her rapidly so that she lost all control.

“ _Yes_.” She cried out, moaning loud enough to follow his command. She could barely keep up with the way her body felt let alone keep her voice in check. But it worked in a way, as it served to further undo the qunari.

“ _Come on, Amara_.” Iron Bull growled, grabbing hold of her throat. He kept his grip just loose enough to let her scream. “ _Come for me. You’re almost there. I know you want to, don’t you?_ ”

It was too much for her. With a shaky sob of sounds she strung together a chorus of _oh—fuck—yes_ before finally exploding in absolute euphoria. It shot through her in perfectly paced waves, shaking her entire body and causing one final moan to burst from her throat. The feeling of her overwhelming climax was enough to push him over the edge, and with a few more snaps of his hips he lost himself. Her whole body shook and her fingernails dragged graves down his arms as he filled her, spurt after spurt, until their mixture dripped down her legs and his cock.

After that it was a battle for breath. Iron Bull kept her steady to make up for the way her body went slack, but gently laid back onto the bed with her on his chest. They were too overstimulated too move for a few minutes, but when she’d finally gathered some semblance of regular breathing she slowly eased off of him. Sitting up straight, Amara braced one hand on his chest to steady herself while she pushed the hair out of her face.

“ _Maferath’s balls_ , I needed that.” She said in a satisfied tone. The Inquisitor lifted a leg over his so she could lay by his side but he’d left her sore and it showed when she winced. Iron Bull tried to help her but she shooed away his hands, promising that she was fine. When at last she sank down beside him she let her eyes close in bliss. “I cannot believe you made me wait this long.”

“Hey, think about how awkward it would have been if I showed up on your bed and you _weren’t_ interested.” He reasoned, looking down at her. Even with her eyes closed she gave him a sarcastic look. He couldn’t blame her—she’d been sending signals for a while now. But that wasn’t what was grabbing his attention.

The qunari was more than happy that they’d done this, but even accounting for the wind-down post-sex high, he expected her to be somewhat out of his system. When he looked down at her and thought about what they’d just done, thought about her enthusiasm towards him, that feeling in his chest just grew bigger. The realization made him freak out a little and kind of want to just leave. It was hard enough dealing with the emotion itself but it was something else entirely to think of what he’d do when she would eventually tell him this was just for fun and she’d moved on. She curled towards him ever so slightly and let out a contented sigh, wholly exhausted from their venture. He gritted his teeth as he looked at her, the frightening realization dawning on him in bold letters and underlines.

 _I think I’m falling for her_.

“Hey, want me to grab some stuff to wash up with?” He asked her to both get him out of the room and focus on something else. The thought of entertaining the realization made him feel some kind of way.

“Would you?” She looked over at him lazily and batted her eyelashes at him. “I need some time to recover.”

He smiled and nodded his head, getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed while he reached for his clothes. It didn’t take long to slip on his pants, belt, and boots. He asked if she needed anything else and she requested something to eat that wasn’t green and he promised to oblige. Heading down the stairs, he cast one more look at her as she cuddled beneath the covers before going through the door. He was startled to see Leliana on the other side, as she was startled to see him, but he closed the door behind him all the same.

“Is the Inquisitor inside?” The Spymaster asked, hands behind her back. “There are some things I would like to discuss with—”

“No.” Bull interrupted, earning a confused look from Leliana. He turned her away from the door and she followed him towards the stairs. “Let her rest.”

“Josie’s getting antsy about some of the diplomat’s requests from Orlais.” She explained as they descended.

“Ah, those assholes can wait.”


End file.
